Fight or Flight
by MusesOwnMyMind
Summary: Charlotte "Charlie" Perkins lived a life on the edge of her father's radar, choosing to keep her distance and hope that he would not decide to come looking for her again. But a chance mishap that leads to her arrest will expose more than simply her falsified last name, just as it will bring her face to face with the man that let her walk away just three years ago to the day.
1. Chapter 1

"Charlie, where the hell are you? Bus is leaving!"

"Calm down, Mack, I'm almost done!" The brunette hollered, rolling her eyes as she applied the last of her lipstick, and risking one final glance at her reflection in the chipped mirror hanging on the wall above the dresser. Like clockwork, her alarm had gone off at six thirty in the morning, prompting the beginning of a process that had become so ingrained in her mind that she truly could have gone through it in her sleep.

What a pity Mack didn't seem to see it that way.

Charlie had been with him for just over a year and a half, almost against her better judgment, though she would never admit to such a thought out loud. He was volatile. Unpredictable. A man that would be more likely to jump into a fight than he would be to wait for a more reasonable solution, and yet that very quality only served to commit her to the idea of sticking by his side to begin with. He had found her at rock bottom, when she thought she had no one, and taken her under his wing regardless. And although they had seen their share of tough spots in that short period of time since they first met, Charlie would have been a liar if she pretended that she had never felt more alive than she did with him.

No matter how hard things became, they had to be better than the prospect of returning home with her tail tucked between her legs.

She would not give her father the satisfaction…

"Damn it, Charlie, would ya hurry up?" Mack's renewed shout echoed up the stairs, the exasperation in his tone causing a half-smile to tug at the corner of Charlie's mouth even as she turned from the mirror, and headed to the doorway of the cardboard box-sized room that they were renting from the widower who lived on the ground floor. Of course, it wasn't ideal—none of it was. But it was better than making a living on the streets until they got their feet under them again.

Even with the cramped quarters, and the loud arguments that inundated them every night from downstairs, Charlie knew her current situation was a damned sight better than homelessness, or jail.

With that thought in mind, she descended the stairs as quickly as she could, a self-satisfied smirk crossing her features as she felt the weight of Mack's gaze as it roamed over her frame. It never got old—the way he looked at her with such a potent combination of possession, and faint pride—and although there were still days where he frightened her more than anyone else she had ever known, Charlie knew she could never leave him. Not by choice.

Not even if walking away was the only thing that could end up saving her life.

…

"Hey baby," Charlie cooed, one hand brushing against the arm of the man's leather jacket as though the gesture were completely accidental, though the look he gave her seemed to suggest he knew otherwise, "You look like you're a little lost."

"Is it that obvious, then?" The man inquired, turning so that he faced the woman standing beside him a bit more directly, and allowing himself the opportunity of looking at her with a bit more than just a distant sort of interest. She stood about a head and a half shorter than him, though she made up for it with an obvious sort of bravado that would have been grating if she hadn't been equally as easy on the eyes. The nod she gave him was almost too predictable, though that did not stop him from smiling, regardless, his posture shifting once again until they stood a mere hairsbreadth away from each other, the slight hitch in her next words seeming to indicate that he might have just succeeded in catching her off guard.

Good.

"Seems that way."

"What gave me away then?"

"The fanny pack, for a start," Charlie quipped, glancing down at the aforementioned object, and choosing to risk dropping her hand from the man's arm in favor of brushing her fingertips against the neon orange fabric instead, "You could've gone for a more subtle color."

"Yeah? What would be the fun in that?"

"You'd certainly attract less attention—"

"Well then you and I wouldn't be here."

"No. No, I don't suppose we would."

The words were said with a smile, though the man did not miss the way her blue eyes flitted away from his own, and landed instead on something a few feet away to his left. He had already spotted the man, of course, though he liked to believe he was doing a decent job of keeping it to himself.

He knew for a fact if the woman caught on to his observation she would be gone in seconds, and he would have nothing to show for his efforts thus far.

"Something tells me that would be a problem for both of us," He stated, if for no other reason than to force the woman's focus his way once more. In doing so, he became even more certain that she was within seconds of making the fatal flaw that they all made, in situations like this—buying into acting and convincing themselves it was real intrigue over what they could offer a man.

God, but that predictability drove him nuts…

"I'm glad to hear you say that, baby," Charlie pressed, one hand moving to rest tentatively against her companion's chest, so that she might inch closer and lean up on tiptoe until their lips were just barely touching, "Cause I think this just turned into a real good night for us."

"Yeah? How so."

"Why don't you come back to my place with your cash, and find out?"

What happened next seemed to transpire in a blur, the routine soft moan that Charlie gave as she pressed her mouth against the man's giving her all the reasons in the world to believe that this job would end exactly as all the other ones had, before it. She could feel his hands, biting into her waist, fingertips straying beneath the hem of her shirt to graze against her skin. But just as soon as she had broken away to reach for his hand, she found herself being harshly spun and forced towards a nearby vehicle, the wind abruptly leaving her lungs as she found herself slammed against its side while her arms were wrenched behind her back and the harsh clink of handcuffs reached her ears.

"Halstead, you got her?"

"Yeah," The man replied, the sound of the satisfaction that was so apparent in his tone causing Charlie to curse her own stupidity under her breath, even as she heard him ask a second question while simultaneously wrenching her away from the car so she was forced to stand upright, "Anything on the other guy?"

"Not a thing. From the looks of it, he cleared out as soon as his girl, here, got herself nabbed."

"Call it in," The man—Halstead—ordered, giving Charlie's arm a rough tug to get her moving toward the squad car, while simultaneously glancing back towards the other detective, a raised brow serving as the only indication that he was surprised at his companion's relative inaction.

"Don't look at me, Ruzek. You're the one that let him get away. You're the one that gets to tell Voight."

It would not be _him _that took the fall for letting the man Voight had been hunting for years off the hook….

…

**Well hello there, angels! And welcome to yet another story from yours truly! I guess it's safe to say the muses have gone hog wild these last few days. So I can only hope that you all don't mind, because I really would love the opportunity to let these stories carry on!**

**As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to those of you that chose to give this little guy a chance! I truly do appreciate your time, and I can only hope that you enjoyed what you found! Feedback, of course, is always encouraged…and like always, I cannot wait to hear what you think!**

**As a last question, before I stop my rambling, I would like to pose a possible vote to you, my dear readers, as to who Charlie ends up paired with in the end. I, personally, am torn between Jay, and Ruzek. But if you have any other ideas, I wouldn't mind hearing them! And once again, thank you for your time!**

**Until next chapter? (I hope!)**

**MOMM**


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie sat with her hands cuffed to the table in the interrogation room, her mind whirling back and forth over a dozen different possible scenarios, and coming up blank no matter how hard she tried to come up with some plausible way out of her current situation. She had been in the room for what felt like hours, wrists already chafing as a direct consequence of how she had made the effort, no matter how futile, to free them from the metal cuffs that held them in place. A strange sort of panic had settled over her, even in spite of how her outward appearance radiated an implacable calm.

No matter how much she might have tried to convince herself otherwise, she could not ignore the fact that Mack had let her get nabbed without ever lifting a finger in her defense…

For the hundredth time, Charlie tried to come up with a logical reason for the man's inaction as soon as her plight made itself known, and each of those times she had been unsuccessful, a groan of frustration leaving her as she once again shied away from the admission that perhaps he had never intended to stick with her from the start. No matter the countless promises the two of them had made between the sheets, the reality appeared to be vastly different, now that push had come to shove.

God, but how could she have been so _stupid_?

It was simple, she supposed. She had allowed Mack to lure her in. She had allowed him to work past the defensive barrier she had erected after leaving home, in part because of exactly how much he reminded her of someone else she had once known. And now?

Now it looked like she would be paying the price for that mistake alone.

If that were not enough, Charlie was forced to recognize that she was now essentially a prisoner in the very place she had sworn never to find herself in again, her teeth chewing nervously at her lower lip as she risked a glance around the small interrogation room, and squinted against the harsh brightness of the fluorescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling. It was all so very familiar, memories of a childhood spent running up and down hallways very similar to the one that she had been escorted through to get here flicking through her mind, and causing a shiver to run down her spine. She remembered every last bit of the countless days she had spent in this very building, chasing after her brother, or trying to find suitable places to hide when the Desk Sergeant came looking for them.

Were she being honest with herself, it was that memory alone that had her emitting a short laugh even in spite of her circumstances, the only thing distracting her from such an unexpected source of amusement being the sound of the door to the interrogation room squeaking on its hinges as yet another detective came to grant her a reprieve from her unwanted solitude.

"So—you're a popular little lady, aren't you?"

"Little lady? What is this, the fifties?" Charlie scoffed, forcing an eye roll and slumping back against the hard metalwork of the chair she occupied in what she hoped would come across as a show of indifference. She could tell that the newcomer was taking in her appearance—searching for a weakness that could be exploited. And although Charlie would be the first to admit she had little to no experience in this sort of situation, she was determined to do her best to see to it that he found nothing he could use against her.

Stubborn pride, even as a fault, would have to be beneficial. It was all she appeared to have left.

"You might consider yourself lucky that it isn't the fifties. Anyone caught doing what you do wouldn't be treated too kindly."

"Ah, and this is kind treatment? Forgive me, I had no idea I was in a four star hotel."

"Very funny," The man retorted, rearranging a chair opposite the one in which Charlie sat, so that its back faced the table, and he could straddle it with relative ease, "I suppose that's how you get your victims to buy into your little act, huh? Comedy?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"See, I think you do. And I think you're smart enough to realize you need to come clean if you want to get out of this without doing time."

"Come clean?" Charlie repeated, one brow lifting in mock skepticism until the unwarranted tugging sensation on her wrists once again alerted her to the fact that crossing her arms over her chest would be, at least temporarily, impossible, "I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be coming clean about, detective."

"You sure you want to keep playing that game?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I think you're getting pretty tired of being cuffed and locked away in here," The detective countered, aware of the young woman's scrutiny as she watched him with a wary sort of intrigue, and finding himself somewhat impressed at how effectively she put up the façade of having nothing to hide. Her eyes, though—they told a different story entirely.

It was that faint glimmer of a conscience that he wanted to exploit.

"You don't strike me as the sort of girl that wants to stay that way."

"You don't know a thing about me."

"I know Perkins is not your real name."

"Oh yeah? What's yours?" Charlie spat, silently cursing the slight waver that her shock had given to her voice, and simultaneously straightening just a bit in the chair, until the pulling and chafing of the cuffs at her wrists brought her up short yet again. Through her aggravation and the burning sensation left behind by Mack's betrayal, Charlie could see that the detective's expression had tightened just a bit, likely in response to her persistent harsh attitude. And although she knew that she was perhaps going a bit too far in terms of provoking the proverbial angry bear, she could not quite persuade herself to stop, a faint smirk toying with the edges of her mouth as she risked shifting just a bit closer to her would-be adversary before attempting to rile him once again.

"I'll go out on a limb here, and guess, given your appearance. Gonzales."

"Actually, smart-ass, it's Dawson. But we're a bit off track," The man—Dawson—stated, the evenness in his reply startling Charlie, and informing her that her attempted jab had not succeeded, at least not on the surface, "See, we ran the name on your driver's license—Charlotte Perkins—and until three years ago, she didn't exist."

"Clearly there's some sort of mistake—"

"Or you're hiding from something. Or someone. Want to know what my money's on?"

"I'm dying to hear it."

"Someone. And it'd go a hell of a lot easier on you if you told us who that someone is now, rather than making us wait."

"I'm not running from anyone," Charlie persisted, aware of how Dawson seemed to abandon the chair he occupied with relative ease, so that he could move partway around the table and perch on its edge, just a foot away.

"You're lying, Charlotte—"

"Charlie."

"Right. Charlie. You really expect me to believe that's your real first name?"

"It is. Same name I was born with."

"What, and it's the name you'll die with, too?" Dawson inquired; a soft chuckle escaping as he leaned just a bit more against the desk, and regarded the woman before him with something not all that far from a grudging respect. Though he would be the first to admit that her defiant replies were grating—angering, even—he was not quite naïve enough to believe that she behaved that way as a rule. He knew enough about the man she ran with to know that she had other skills in her arsenal…

What stunned him, and thus engendered at least some modicum of interest, was that in spite of what she had done to land herself in this predicament, she was not resorting to those same talents to try and get herself out.

"Assuming you treat my last question as rhetorical, I think I'll try for a different angle."

"Good cop, bad cop in one man? I'm impressed."

"Well, I have to use the techniques that work. Even you know that."

"Even I know that? What the hell does that mean?" Charlie demanded, frustration, for once, finally winning out over her desire to appear indifferent as she straightened once again, and wrenched at the cuffs holding her in place such that they gave a muted clinking as audible evidence of her jangled nerves. She knew almost as soon as she spoke that she was being foolish. That baiting this man any more might make her punishment worse, instead of lessening it. But in spite of that awareness, Charlie could not quite allow reason to win out over base ire, her fingernails cutting into the skin of her palms as her hands balled into fists and she listened to the detective's ensuing reply.

"It means that if you're not honest with me in the next minute or so, I'm going to have to break out the big guns; and I can guarantee you, you aren't going to like what he has to throw at you."

"So I'm supposed to believe that you're the lesser of two evils, here?"

"If you're smart, yeah. That's exactly what you're supposed to believe."

"Who's the big guns?"

"You don't want to know."

"Actually, I think I do," Charlie pressed, shifting just a bit so that she might cross her right leg over the left, the better to be able to rest her cuffed hands upon a surface other than the metal of the table that was so very close to the detective's left thigh, "Maybe he'll be more inclined to believe an honest woman when she says she's done nothing wrong."

Of course, had she not been so distracted by her attempted subterfuge as it pertained to avoiding giving her companion the ability to see past her façade, she would have noticed the shrill squeak of the interrogation room door, and the man that now stood in that doorway with an unreadable expression on worn features that were every bit as familiar to her as the back of her own palm…

"I don't think he's going to believe it, Charlie. Not this time."

_Dad_…

…

**Well hello there, my angels! And welcome to chapter two! I can honestly say, I am absolutely blown away by the number of reviews the first chapter has received thus far, and believe me; I am keeping a tally of the voting as well! It's a pretty close call, as of right now (by my count, six votes for Jay, and five for Adam). But polls are not yet closed, so anyone else who has input, please feel free to leave it in a review! I can honestly see the story going either way, so I am eager to hear your thoughts!**

**As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you who has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far (that means you, Lia, Joana, daydreaminginthestars, musicluver246, Nana, , and my guests as well!) I truly do appreciate the support, and I cannot wait to hear what you think of this chapter, and the small little cliffhanger that I couldn't help but leave for you. **

**Until next time?**

**MOMM**


	3. Chapter 3

"Give us the room, Antonio," The newcomer ordered, never once averting his gaze from the young woman currently cuffed to the chair, though she appeared to be doing a fair job of pretending that he wasn't even there, "I can handle this."

"You sure, Sarge?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Something in the man's tone seemed to indicate to the younger detective that any sort of argument would be futile, and detrimental to the matter at hand, in addition, only the slight squeak of the table's metal feet against the flooring belying the haste with which Dawson moved to stand and exit the room as requested. Only a moment's pause transpired between that movement, and the newcomer's decision to nudge the door shut behind him with one foot, before pulling the chair opposite the young woman towards him, and taking a seat for himself—

Even so, with her current level of anxiousness, that moment seemed to Charlie as if it took damned near a full lifetime to end.

"You have anything to say for yourself, Charlie?"

"Why would I? Nothing I do or say will be good enough," The young woman retorted, her voice subdued in spite of the obvious venom that her words themselves possessed. Something in the way she stared at the corner of the table, as though transfixed by its simplicity, almost proved enough to have the man seated across from her holding back. Almost.

Of course, as soon as he saw the familiar jigging of her booted foot against the flooring, and the slight twitch of a muscle in her jaw, all thought of leniency faded away as quickly as if it had never even existed to begin with.

"You don't want to play hard ball with me, Charlie. You won't win."

"Isn't that the truth."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Voight pressed, the hard quality to his tone causing the woman seated across from him to flinch, and attempt to cross her arms over her chest in a habitual defensive gesture, only to find herself brought up short by the restriction of the cuffs still shackled around her wrists, "You and I both know you're smarter than this."

"Do we? From what I recall, I was never that smart to begin with."

"Because you bought into all the crap your so-called friends told you since high school! Your mother and I never wanted that for you."

"Do me a favor, and don't bring her up again," Charlie bit out, rearranging her posture in hopes that her companion would not notice the discomfort caused by the cuffs at her wrists, though she knew somehow that the effort would be futile no matter what, "She has nothing to do with this."

"Then tell me who does. Tell me who you hold responsible so we can get past this."

"Would 'myself' be a suitable answer for you? Or do you want more than that?"

"I want whatever I can get to get you out of this," Voight replied, aware of the narrowing in Charlie's eyes as she absorbed his assertion, and quite obviously decided not to believe it within seconds after hearing it, "Your boy gave you up, in case you hadn't noticed. You want to go down for this alone?"

"You don't know that he gave me up. You're not the only one that needs to play hero sometimes."

"Well I don't see him anywhere, do you?"

"Seeing him would kind of ruin the point of waiting for the opportune moment, wouldn't it?"

Unbidden, a short laugh escaped in response to the familiar ease with which Charlie fell back on quips such as the one just uttered, the sound obviously startling her enough to force her to glance at the man seated before her head on. For a moment, her expression seemed to waver, as though she were half tempted to relinquish her attempt at seeming indifference in favor of actually attempting honesty. But almost as soon as that moment appeared, it was disappearing just as quickly, the hardened cast returning to Charlie's eyes as she directed them at the table once again.

"Come on, Charlie, work with me here. You don't need to do jail time for this prick," Voight began, leaning with both elbows on the cool metal of the table between them, and fingers threaded together in a gesture of entreaty, "Who is he?"

"I talk, I'm dead," Charlie retorted, a shaky breath escaping her as she realized that her assertion, such as it was, had more truth to it than she had ever admitted to herself before, "Way I see it, I might actually be safer in prison. That is, if you actually have anything to pin me on."

"Solicitation of a Chicago police officer, for a start—"

"Solicitation? Or simple flirting?"

"Halstead says you specifically mentioned the exchange of funds for—"

"Was this Halstead wearing a wire?"

"I'm not gonna answer that," Voight dead-panned, hands moving until they rested, palms flat, upon the table, and consequently managing to garner Charlie's attention in spite of her desire to remain aloof, "And I know there's more to this than what meets the eye."

"Oh, do you?"

"You're not a whore, Charlie. If I know anything about you, I know that."

"What do you think this is, then?"

"That's what you're gonna tell me. What does this guy have on you?"

"Nothing. This isn't a man you need to save me from," Charlie quipped, forcing herself to meet her father's eyes even though doing so sent a jolt of something she had not felt in a long time to reverberate through her bones, "We had each other's backs from day one."

"Then where is he now? You keep telling me he's got you, and I keep blowing holes in your theory, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Then act like it."

"That's rich, when you stopped acting like a parent the day mom died."

Almost as soon as she said the words, Charlie regretted them, her cheeks flushing out of a combination of anger and embarrassment, and forcing her to redirect her attention to the blinding fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling, and the moth that had chosen to flutter around it unnoticed until this precise moment. She was a hypocrite, for using her mother against him, while simultaneously refusing to allow him to do the same to her.

Hypocrite or not, though, she would have been a liar had she pretended that some small, childish part of her was at least moderately pleased that she had finally found a way to get under his skin after he had so effectively gotten underneath her own.

Hating herself for that part of her nature would just have to be dealt with later.

Risking a glance back at Voight as though the conclusion she had just reached steeled her nerves, Charlie found that her father appeared to be examining her with an expression that was every bit as implacable as she had endeavored to make her own just moments ago, the utter lack of emotion in that gaze unnerving her as nothing else could. It was as though he believed that, through simple force of will, he could make her relent and do as he wished as he had so many times before in her youth. But before she could find it in herself to either resist those attempts, or give in to them, Voight was pushing the chair he occupied back with the accompanying sound of scraping metal on the flooring, his fingertips remaining poised on the tabletop for only a moment while he spoke.

"Sit tight, Charlie. This isn't over."

_No_, Charlie thought to herself as she watched her father turn from her and leave her to her own devices in the interrogation room once again.

_This has only just begun_.

…

Some indeterminable amount of time later, Charlie found herself jolted awake by the sound of the interrogation room door's hinges squeaking their protest as her solitude was broken once more, her shock at having been able to actually doze off in spite of her current situation only growing as she recognized exactly who it was that had walked through the door. She hadn't thought to see her again, at least not working in the job she so obviously held.

But then again, in the long list of things Charlie had not expected to happen today, running into the girl who used to share her room when they were teens was pretty low on the list in terms of shock value…

"Hey, Charlie."

"Erin."

"I'd ask how you were, but I think that's pretty self-explanatory."

"Yeah, I think it is," Charlie agreed, forcing a lopsided smile for Erin's benefit, and lifting a brow as the detective gestured for her to raise her hands, "You're un-cuffing me?"

"Unless you've got a secret bondage fetish, yeah, I guess I am," Erin replied, matching Charlie's half smile with one of her own, and removing the cuffs from her wrists in one fluid motion before taking the seat Voight had just vacated, "I have to say, I'm pretty sure everyone always thought it would be me sitting where you are right now."

"Guess we fooled them, huh?"

"Maybe not in the way we wanted, but yeah, I guess we did."

"You gonna tell me who got you into this mess?"

"I'd rather not," Charlie began, flexing her wrists, and emitting a soft groan as her body almost immediately protested the movement after being held rigid for so long, "You don't need to get involved, Erin."

"Ancient history says I do. How many favors do I owe you now, exactly?"

"Don't cash one in on this."

"What if I want to?" Erin persisted, leaning with both elbows on the table in an almost exact mimicry of Voight's action from earlier, and choosing to ignore the raised brow Charlie sent her way in direct response to the act, "You're not a criminal, Charlie."

"I think my father would try to convince you otherwise."

"He's the reason I'm in here. We're not giving up on you, whether you've done that to yourself already or not."

"That's what you think this is?" Charlie inquired, astonishment coloring her tone as she looked the woman who had been more like a sister than simply a friend in the eye, and shook her head in obvious denial, "I haven't given up on myself."

"Then why won't you give us anything? What sort of loyalty do you think you owe this guy?"

"The same as I'd owe any one of my other friends."

"Does that include me?"

"You should know that it does, Erin."

"Then tell me what's going on here," Erin implored, abandoning protocol for a moment in favor of reaching across the table and grabbing one of Charlie's hands before she could find the wherewithal to pull away, "Let me help you, and I promise you won't have to deal with this asshole that put you in here ever again."

"He's not an asshole."

"From where I'm standing, it kind of looks like he is."

"That's because you don't know him like I do," Charlie said, glancing down at where Erin's hand held her own, and forcing herself to resist the urge to gently pull away solely for the benefit of her former friend, "We—we've been together for a year and a half. You don't—you _can't _know him."

"You love him."

"I—no. Maybe."

"Maybe sounds a hell of a lot like yes to me," Erin corrected, a resigned sigh coloring the ensuing silence as she watched Charlie finally succeed in removing her hand so that she might lean back against the chair she occupied with an expression that was a mix between denial and a reluctant acknowledgment of the truth, such as it was.

"You're entitled to that opinion."

"I'm glad you think so."

"We aim to please," Charlie retorted, brow furrowing as she realized almost immediately that her reply came off far more harshly than she intended, "Listen, Erin, whatever you think, or don't think, I can't just turn on this guy on a dime. He—we've both been through too much for it to end like that."

"Why do I get the feeling that he's already ended it?"

"Erin—"

"No, Charlie, I'm not going to feed into your denial, here. I can't. Not after all that _we've _been through, okay?"

Unsure of exactly how best to reply in light of her companion's absolute refusal to let her off the hook, Charlie opted for remaining silent, teeth coming out to worry at her lower lip as the internal debate over how to proceed went up against her regret over disappointing the woman who had been her best friend for an indeterminable number of years. Unlike her father, Erin had an uncanny ability to sense her moods—her attempts at deception and subterfuge—

No matter what, Charlie knew that whatever she said next, it would have to be good if she wanted to avoid a full disclosure of the truth without simultaneously alienating Erin Lindsay in the process.

Before she was able to come up with a plan that was at least marginally suitable, however, Charlie found herself once again brought up short by the sound of the interrogation room door squealing on its hinges as Voight appeared once again, his gaze only lighting upon Erin for the briefest of moments before resting on Charlie with such an intensity that she had to consciously fight the urge to squirm in her chair.

"You're coming with me. And before you come up with any wise-crack reasons why you can't, you should know this is the only thing I could pull to keep the DA from throwing your ass in jail tonight."

Whether she liked it or not, it looked like Charlie was going home…

…

**Hello, my darlings, and welcome to chapter three! I am so, so thrilled that this story seems to be so well-received thus far, and I can honestly say that reading all of your lovely reviews only makes it that much easier to churn out new chapters!**

**I've been keeping track of the votes, and I think I have to say a decision has been made. (Drum-roll? Lol). As Adam appears to be winning by a landslide, (and I definitely see the sense in those reviews that commented he would be a lovely fit for Charlie, and added reasons why), I decided to go with him! For those of you that did vote for Jay, please don't worry that I will be ignoring him completely. The more I think about it, the more I absolutely adore the idea of those two being good friends (especially given Jay's early relationship with Erin, and Charlie and Erin's closeness as well). And I haven't entirely written off the idea of a separate fic that could very well be Jay/OC centric (because why wouldn't I create yet another story when I can hardly keep up with the ones I already have, right? ;D). In any case, though, I do hope that those of you who did vote for Jay won't hate me for my choice, and will (hopefully?) decide to keep reading! I'd hate to lose any of you because I did not take anyone's opinion lightly!**

**As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that have reviewed, followed, and favorited last chapter (special thanks for Ann, Upsteadgirl3, phoward, July, hulachick1102, Joana, and all of my lovely guests)! I truly do appreciate the support, and I cannot wait to hear what you thought of this latest chapter! I'm also hoping that I haven't made Charlie too harsh when it came to her interaction with Voight—but there's some ancient history there that I will eventually explore that makes their relationship a little tense and I was trying to portray that as best I could.**

**Until next time?**

**MOMM**


	4. Chapter 4

"You're kidding. She's his daughter?"

"Cut the surprise, kid," Alvin Olinsky replied, running a hand over already drawn and exhausted features, and resuming his position seated at his desk, with the chair tilted back so that he reclined at an angle that was only slightly more comfortable than sitting erect, "The man's entitled to his secrets."

"Yeah, but a _daughter_? That's a hell of a thing to keep under wraps."

"Seems like he had a pretty good reason to me."

"So you knew about this? All along?" Ruzek pressed, aware of his partner's obvious exasperation over the continuous questioning, and yet unable to find it within himself to stop, regardless, "Come on, man, you've gotta give me something, here—"

"Actually, Ruzek, I don't have to give you anything," Olinsky countered, folding both arms across his chest, and regarding the younger man that had so persistently harangued him with an expression that practically pleaded for silence, even though he knew that he was not likely to get it, "And if you're as smart as you want everyone to think you are, you're not going to go running to Voight to get the answers from him yourself."

"Trust me, Al, I'm not that stupid."

"Could've fooled me."

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

"I thought so."

"Are you two clowns done, or should we give you a few minutes?"

"Oh trust me, we're done," Alvin stated, casting one final, exasperated glance towards his partner before turning to face the small room's newest arrival, "You get anything on our girl's special friend, Dawson?"

"Not a thing," Antonio replied, tossing the file folder that he held onto Alvin's desk, and moving to lean against the wall beside it before elaborating further, "Name's a fake, just like hers was. He's in the wind."

"Not for long, if Voight has anything to say about it."

"You hear he's actually taking her home?" Dawson inquired, ignoring Ruzek's expression of shock in favor of looking at Olinsky more directly, "That's gonna make a tense evening."

"No kidding."

"You knew about this, too?"

"Shut it, Ruzek. You're not entitled to everything when you're a rookie."

"Being a little hard on him, don't you think, Al?"

"I'm hard on everyone when they're this new," Olinsky explained, casting a glance towards his partner, and shaking his head at the obviously frustrated expression that had taken over his features, "You have your doubts, Ruzek, you should just ask Halstead."

"I'll take your word for it, Al."

"Good idea, kid."

"Joking aside, we need to get this guy, and soon," Antonio pressed, glancing back towards the stairway that led towards the main floor of the precinct, just in time to see Voight climbing the last of the stairs alone. Though he liked to think he knew the man well, even he could not decipher the expression on their superior's features, in that moment—

He would've been a liar if he tried to pretend that such a realization did not send a bolt of apprehension through him over the thought of exactly what the man was capable of, if given sufficient motivation.

"I take it you three can handle things here for the night?" Voight inquired, something in the look he gave the detectives gathered around Olinsky's desk giving the impression that he meant business now, more than ever, "I want this guy found, and I want him found now."

"We got it, boss," Antonio assured, watching Voight carefully as he moved to grab his jacket from the peg outside his office, and only risking a glance at the rest of his team when the man's back was turned, "You ah—you want one of us to come with you on this one?"

"Halstead and Lindsay are already on it."

"You sure?"

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask me that."

Taking Voight's reply as a not so subtle request to stop pressing the matter, Antonio opted for remaining silent in lieu of making further conversation. Knowing Voight as well as he did, or thought he did, in some instances, he was well aware that pushing the man on a decision he had already made was about the farthest thing from wise.

Even so, Dawson harbored doubts over exactly how close to the vest his superior was playing this when it was apparent, even to him, that there was something larger at play than a simple family grudge.

"So you're taking her home?"

"It's where she belongs," Voight said, his tone brooking no argument as he glanced at each of his detectives in turn as though daring them to disagree, "Whatever you're all thinking, don't. I've got this."

"You know where to find me if you need me, Hank."

"I do, Alvin."

"Then make sure you use the information if you have to," Olinsky suggested, holding Voight's gaze for just a moment before the sergeant was once again turning away and heading back towards the stairs, "You're not in this alone."

No matter how often Voight chose to pretend otherwise, his team had his back, even when no one else did.

…

"So you knew her as a kid?"

"I already answered that question, Jay."

"With a simple yes or no, yeah," Jay agreed, fiddling with one of the dials on the dashboard that would turn down the heat that was gusting through the vents of the vehicle they occupied, and simultaneously attempting to make it appear as though his companion's answer was not truly as important as his persistent inquiries made it seem, "I have to admit, Erin, I'm used to more from you."

"Are you saying I talk too much?"

"No—"

"Good. Because I can always kick you out of the car here, and make you walk the rest of the way to Voight's."

"You'd never do that."

"No? Why not?"

"You like me too much."

"Says who?" Erin scoffed, rolling her eyes in exasperated amusement over Jay's assertion, and simultaneously turning the vehicle into the nearest intersection, "I don't remember ever making any claims like that."

"And here I thought you'd never be the type of person to have memory problems."

"Very funny, smart-ass."

"I thought so."

Unable to resist the urge to grin at her partner's usual antics, Erin opted for remaining silent after Halstead's latest quip, her attention remaining on the road ahead of them even while her thoughts drifted to the current predicament of an old friend. In truth, she had absolutely no idea what she would do, if she were the one in Charlie's shoes, forced to face the very thing that had driven her away from her home for years. But even in the face of that doubt and uncertainty, Erin could not entirely find it within herself to regret her friend's pseudo-forced return—

She could only hope that a night under her father's roof would not be enough to persuade Charlie to disappear once again.

"Hey—where'd you go just now?"

Startled from her own thoughts by the sound of her companion's inquiry, Erin shook herself and forced her attention back to the road before them, her shoulders squaring just a bit even as she felt the weight of Jay's eyes as they searched her features for some semblance of an answer. And although a small part of her was well aware that she owed him that much—the truth—Erin was not yet prepared to expose the details of another individual's life in that effort, a sigh escaping as she attempted to compose her thoughts in such a way that her next words were not construed as an outright lie.

"I—nowhere, Jay. I was just—there's a lot of stuff that Charlie and I went through—"

"And you're not prepared to share it."

"Not yet," Erin confirmed, risking a glance at her partner, and managing a thin smile at how he appeared to have taken her at her word, regardless of his own disappointment, "Trust me, the kinds of things you want to know would sound better if they came with the consent of both parties involved."

"Sounds like you owe this girl a lot."

"I do. And I'm not about to tell anyone about what put her in her current predicament until she tells me I can."

Regardless of what anyone thought regarding her loyalties, Erin Lindsay was not about to betray the trust of the one person that had been more like family than her own flesh and blood…

…

Returning home after what felt like absolute ages away was not what Charlie had expected, the strained silence on the car ride to the place she could have identified even if she had gone blind passing as nothing when compared to the sudden pang of guilt that she felt upon crossing over the threshold behind her father and looking on the furniture and other décor that had obviously never been moved since she left it all behind. It was almost paralyzing—the feeling that absolutely nothing had changed, in spite of the fact that Charlie knew full well that nothing was, or ever would be the same again.

Of course that split second's hesitation proved to be enough to have her father turning back to face her after having tossed his jacket on the sofa, his expression flickering into something that might have resembled empathy for a moment, before it became cautiously neutral once more.

"Charlie?"

"I'm fine," The young woman stated, the fingers of her left hand curling in until the nails dug into the skin of her palm, while her right hand lifted to dash a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, "I'm—I'm fine."

"And how many times will you need to say that before you actually believe it?"

"That's not what this is."

"Sure looks like it to me."

"Dad—" Charlie protested, some sort of instinct prompting her to move towards the staircase that was just inside the door, so that she might take a seat on the third step as she had so often as a young girl, "Look, it's obvious that you don't want me here, so—"

"Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know."

"You might want to rethink that, kid. I could've just as easily let them cart your ass to lock-up," Voight spat, for the moment, unable to maintain the hardened exterior that had been a near constant companion since the initiation of the journey home, "You're here because I want you here. End of story."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me here?" Charlie demanded, looping an arm around her knees and curling in on herself in a gesture that was nothing short of defensive, regardless of her intentions, "It's been three years—"

"And whose fault is that?"

"I think we'd both come up with a different answer for that one."

"You're probably right. But it was never because I didn't want you around, Charlie."

"It never seemed like that—"

"You ever think that's because you wanted it to be that way?" Voight questioned, aware of how Charlie seemed to flinch in response to his words, and yet choosing to press on, regardless, "It gave you a reason to stay away."

"There was more than one reason and you know it," Charlie insisted, the hold her arm had around her knees tightening just a bit as she tried and failed to ignore the inherent wavering in her voice, "There was always more to it than that."

"Then why don't we talk about it, instead of pretending it doesn't exist?"

"Because pretending things don't exist is what we do, Dad."

Unable to deny the validity in his daughter's statement, Voight settled upon remaining silent instead, watching her carefully in that silence while her own attention seemed to rivet itself upon the torn fabric at her knees. Idly, one hand picked at the loose threads, as though that task were the most fascinating thing she had encountered in quite some time. And, half in an effort to give them both some manner of escape from the strained silence that seemed, once again, to have taken over the small room they occupied, Voight was soon clearing his throat, both hands seeking pants pockets as he registered Charlie's gaze fixing on his own once more while he spoke.

"Your room's still upstairs, if you want to go rest."

As easily as that, it seemed, the two of them were exactly back to where they had started…

…

After managing a quick shower, and rummaging through the dresser drawers in her old bedroom until she found a baggy old t-shirt and sleep-shorts that still fit, Charlie found herself rather effectively sequestered in solitude, whether she had initially wanted it, or not. For a few moments, she had paced the room, blue eyes roving over every last detail that had remained unchanged since her departure, from the posters hung haphazardly across the walls, to the squeaking floorboard right beside the bed. A dusty smell pervaded the room, as though its door had not been opened since she left, as well, but even in the face of that fact, Charlie found herself rather uncomfortably aware of a dull aching in her chest that seemed to throb in time with the stinging pinpricks of sensation that plagued her eyes.

No matter how she might have wished to ignore it, she could not help but come to the conclusion that perhaps her father had been right all along.

Mack really was intent on leaving her to fend for herself…

Unable to cope with the raw pain that was nearly overwhelming in the face of such a realization, Charlie plunked down on the edge of the twin bed, her fingers instinctively seeking purchase in the faded old quilt her mother had made so many years ago as though hoping that it would help her fend off the guilt that came in connection with her newfound realization. She should have seen the relationship for what it was. She should have _known_.

The fact that she had, once again, been lulled into something that she should have steered clear of spoke to her own naiveté far more than she wished to admit.

Silently cursing her decision was not likely to have any tangible reward, however, and although Charlie was not exactly thrilled over her current situation, she was also powerless to deny that she was, at least for the moment, out of reach of any of the more dire consequences that might have befallen her, had her father decided not to get involved—

Inasmuch as she truly hated the idea of being beholden to the man, she knew she would have been a fool not to be grateful.

The thought of all that had transpired between them what felt like ages ago only confused her, now, her pain over the loss of her home and whatever familial bond she felt she owed to her father at odds with the niggling sense of wounded pride that smarted over any thought of reconciliation. Charlie knew full well that she had done things she was not proud of. That she had _said _things she was not proud of. But perhaps what irked her more than all of that, and of the times she wished she might have taken back every last thing she had partaken in out of a desire to lash out, was the fact that her father had never once acted as though he had regretted the decision that had torn their family apart after the death of the one person that had worked so diligently to hold them all together.

Jumping as the sound of the television blaring to life downstairs, and finding herself rather efficiently startled out of her internal musings, Charlie forced her eyes open and placed her elbows upon her knees, both hands rising to rub at exhausted features as her ears simultaneously tried to catch some idea of whatever it was that her father was watching.

Late night sports. Typical.

Lulled, though she did not want to be, by the familiar return of the routine that had been set in stone for as long as she could remember, Charlie scooted just a bit farther back on the mattress until her legs could cross beneath her, and her back could rest against the coolness of the wall beside the bedroom window, the dull thump of her head connecting with the wall hardly evoking any attention at all as she settled instead for focusing on the muted sounds of sportscasters emanating from the television one floor below.

For now, at least, she would do what she could to take refuge in the familiarity surrounding her.

The memory and pain that came along with that familiarity would simply have to wait.

…

**Well hello there, darlings, and welcome, finally, to chapter four! I know I sort of left you hanging after my last update, particularly since every chapter prior to that came out so quickly. But try as I might to come up with something during a seven day stretch of working the night shift, I failed (insert sad face here). Hopefully that minor delay didn't deter any of you, though, because I can promise I am nowhere near finished with Charlie's tale!**

**As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to those of you that took the time to read, follow, favorite and review last chapter (with special thanks to my dear reviewers: Joana, July, Celine, Dara, phoward, and my four guests!) I truly do appreciate the support and I sincerely hope that this chapter (delayed, and filler-ish as it may be) meets with your expectations! I confess, I had originally intended to spend more time on Voight and Charlie's interaction once at home, but the rest of the team seemed to need input as well, hence my minor diversion in the beginning of the chapter. I promise we will get more Charlie and Voight time in the next chapter…but regardless, I do hope that what you found here was not off-putting! And like usual, I am anxiously awaiting your thoughts on what you've read so far!**

**Until next time, dearies…**

**MOMM**


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up in the room she had slept in for the majority of her childhood was disorienting at first, particularly in light of the fact that, for what felt like ages, Charlie was waking up alone. Whether she chose to admit it to herself or not, the emptiness of the bed was more disheartening than she might have originally believed, a frown marring her brow as she hauled herself up to a seated position, and rubbed at her eyes with both hands. Once again, she found herself stunned by the exact set of circumstances that had brought her here, to her childhood bedroom, in her father's house. And no matter how much she might have wished to avoid it, Charlie was very well aware that she would, eventually, have to venture back downstairs to face the man directly.

Perhaps it was better to face that particular event sooner, rather than later…

As determined as she could have been in the face of such a realization, Charlie forced herself to swing her feet over the edge of the bed so that they could make contact with the threadbare carpet, and she could stand not long thereafter. Almost immediately, the floorboard beneath her feet gave its telltale creak, rather effectively betraying the fact that she was already awake to anyone else that possessed moderately decent hearing in the home. And with a wince at the idea of her father coming to seek her out himself, Charlie moved towards the door to the bedroom and opened it out onto the hallway beyond, only to find herself freezing in place as she caught sight of the black vehicle parked just opposite of where the house resided on the street through the window immediately beside her bedroom door.

_She ought to have known her father would never have brought her home without certain security measures in place to ensure she didn't try to slip away…_

Sighing in apparent exasperation, Charlie maneuvered away from the window in favor of beginning the act of descending the stairs, one hand tugging through tousled hair while the other grazed against the bannister to prevent a fall. It had not escaped her notice that her father's bedroom door was wide open before she headed downstairs, thus increasing the likelihood of the conversation she had been dreading ever since arriving at home the night before. Without realizing it, Charlie's teeth came out to begin the task of worrying at her lower lip, her heart rate seeming to rise with every step she took towards the main landing below. But no matter how she dreaded what might come about as a result of any interaction with her father, Charlie knew that she had to face him eventually.

The familiar sound of coffee brewing, and the ensuing smell would just have to be motivation enough to pull her into the kitchen, no matter the depth of her own misgivings.

With both hands folded across her chest, Charlie moved into the kitchen with as much self-assurance as she could muster, her gaze flicking to the coffee machine with something not all that different from longing, before she found herself distracted by her father's presence beside the refrigerator, holding a cup of coffee of his own.

"Charlie."

"Dad," Charlie replied, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, and averting her gaze to the flooring at her feet as though her toenails were now the most fascinating thing in the world, "Are the coffee cups still—"

"Third shelf, middle cupboard, yeah."

"Thanks."

"You still take it plain?"

"Like always," Charlie confirmed, standing up on tiptoe to reach for one of the aforementioned glasses, only to find herself freezing in place as she caught sight of the familiar chipped purple mug that she had always imagined finding its way to the trash long ago, "You—you still have this?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because it—"

"Because it was your mother's?" Voight finished, aware of how Charlie had almost immediately tensed upon his mention of the proverbial elephant in the room, though she did seem to recover quickly enough to select a plain white mug and shut the door before she turned to face him directly, "Seems to me that's every reason to keep the thing, not throw it out."

"I guess I just never thought you were the sentimental type."

"Yeah, well, I surprise a lot of people that way."

"You ever use it?" Charlie inquired, once again turning away from her father, this time in favor of reaching for the coffee pot so that she might pour some of the steaming liquid into her mug in lieu of being able to watch her father's expression as he replied.

"What do you think?"

"Guess not."

"Would you?" Voight asked, watching as Charlie absorbed herself in the task of taking a sip or two of her coffee before managing a reply.

"Probably not, no."

"I didn't think so."

"Saw your people from the upstairs window," Charlie remarked, her muscles seeming to tense of their own accord, even in spite of how she had, at least for the moment, redirected their conversation away from a topic that she truly had no real desire to discuss, "You worried someone would try and break in?"

"More like worried someone would try to break out. I seem to recall you were never afraid of slipping out of your bedroom window to see some boy I didn't like."

"Did you ever like any of them?"

"Fair point," Voight admitted, tamping down on the slight sense of encouragement he felt upon noting the corner of Charlie's mouth twitching in amusement, and choosing instead to remain cautiously neutral over how she would react to what he said next, "I think given past history, I had fair reason to hold reservations."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it says, Charlie. You got yourself involved with a lot of people you should've stayed away from."

"No more than Erin or Justin," Charlie countered, silently cursing herself for the way her voice had cracked in tandem with the resurgence of nerves that assailed her over the reference to not only her past, but her current situation as well, "How is this any different?"

"Last I checked, neither of them were facing solicitation charges."

"It's not like they haven't faced others of their own—"

"Dammit, Charlie, we need to have a straight conversation about this!" Voight exclaimed, aware of how his daughter had almost immediately flinched at the raised tone of his voice, and yet choosing to press on, regardless, "You need to tell me what I need to know so I can tell the DA what they want to hear."

"Seems to me what they want to hear is that I belong in jail."

"They won't after I'm done with them."

"What exactly do you think you can do?" Charlie demanded, abandoning her coffee mug on the kitchen counter so that she could brace herself against the surface with both hands, in part to hide how fiercely they had begun the act of shaking in spite of her efforts to prevent it, "Your boy's testimony will put the nail in the coffin no matter what."

"Halstead can change his story."

"Why the hell would he want to?"

"Because I told him to," Voight deadpanned, folding both arms across his chest, and regarding Charlie with a look that almost seemed to dare her to judge the reasons behind that decision right then and there, "The choice is yours, kid. You just have to give me one thing in return."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"The name of the prick that landed you here."

_And they were back to that, again…_

"I already told you I can't give you that," Charlie stated, forcing herself to look her father in the eye, though all she truly wanted to do was look away, "That answer hasn't changed."

"Cut the crap, Charlie. You know you're better off giving it to me straight, here. I'm trying to help you."

"Well maybe you can't."

"I can't? Or is it just that you don't want me to?"

"You make it sound like I actually want to go to jail."

"What else am I supposed to think?" Voight pressed, moving away from the countertop he had been leaning against, and stepping just a bit closer to his daughter, even in the face of how she seemed to instinctively shrink in on herself as though fearful of an attack, "You're the one who's not giving me anything to go on. What does this guy have on you?"

"Nothing."

"This isn't looking like nothing, kid."

"What do you want me to say, Dad? That I'm ready to roll over on this guy no matter what we've been through?"

"That would be ideal."

"Well it's not going to happen," Charlie persisted, turning back towards the counter, and leaning against it with both palms flat against the surface, "Not—not yet."

"When?"

"Would you believe me if I said I don't know?"

"For now? Yeah," Voight acquiesced, watching Charlie's reaction carefully for a moment more, and deciding that she did, in fact, appear to be telling the truth, "But you and I are going to talk when I get back later today."

"You—you're leaving me here?"

"Yeah, I am. But you won't be here alone."

The huff that Charlie gave in response to his most recent assertion was unmistakable, her supposition that he was about to leave her to her own devices every bit as predictable as her apparent desire to get to the bottom of what, exactly, he intended to do with her instead. For a moment, Voight could have almost believed that things were exactly as they had been just three years prior.

Of course it only took the narrowing of his daughter's eyes in open suspicion to change all of that in the blink of an eye.

"Don't tell me you actually got me a baby sitter—"

"Only because I know you well enough to realize you'll go running off the first chance you get," Voight supplied, moving from the kitchen to the foyer, and grabbing the coat hanging on the hook by the door, before turning back to give her one last look that he hoped would be warning enough to keep her from doing anything he couldn't get her out of.

"Don't make me, or my guy regret this, Charlie. Be nice."

As if she could do anything but…

…

"Wait a minute. Me?"

"Unless your name isn't Adam Ruzek," Olinsky replied, steering around the corner that would lead to Voight's home, and suppressing slight amusement over the predicament his young partner would be faced with that day, "You should consider yourself lucky. Could have the makings of a pretty easy shift."

"Easy. Sure. Until I screw something up, and Voight has my ass."

"That's simple, kid. Just don't screw anything up."

"You got any advice to help with that, Al?" Ruzek inquired, watching his partner for some sign of a reply, and finding relatively quickly that none was going to be forthcoming, "No. Didn't think so."

"Look, you want to do this right? Make sure she doesn't do anything to screw up Voight's plan to get her cut loose, alright?" Olinsky suggested, pulling into the drive just as the man in question appeared on the front porch, and bringing the vehicle to a stop before throwing it in park, "He thought you would be the best one for the job. That should be a compliment."

"A compliment? I'm a cop, Al, not a glorified baby sitter."

"Don't let Voight hear you say that."

"If he's going to kick my ass anyway, when I mess this up—"

"You're not going to mess this up, Ruzek," Alvin assured, moving to exit the vehicle, and running a hand across his mouth to hide his amusement before addressing their superior directly, "How's the prisoner this morning, Sarge?"

"Less than pleased about her situation," Voight answered, glancing from Olinsky, to Ruzek, and noting that the younger man appeared to be at least slightly apprehensive over the proposed solution to their problem as well, "Don't worry, I told her to behave herself."

"Yeah, that's not what I'm worried about, Sarge."

"You riding with me, or Halstead and Lindsay over there on the curb?" Alvin intervened, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of one of the curtains on the window directly opposite where he stood seemed to flicker, as though someone had just flipped them back to look outside. He suspected it was Charlie, herself, perhaps attempting to keep tabs on exactly who was involved in working her case. But of course, before he could make any further attempts at discerning whether or not she would attempt to glance out the window for a second time, Voight was replying to his inquiry, effectively diverting his attention even in the face of his curiosity over everything that had just transpired.

"You. I don't really feel like risking life and limb with Halstead's driving."

"Fair point. Seems we've been lucky Lindsay's managed to survive it this far."

In lieu of an immediate reply to that claim, Voight settled instead for turning back to look at his home one more time before departing it, a sigh escaping at the thought of exactly what he might be required to do to find the man that had succeeded in placing his daughter in her current position to start with. Just as he had before, he would not mind the idea of ignoring the usual limitations when it came to getting someone he cared for out of trouble, no matter the consequences that he suffered as a result.

The only factor that might make circumstances different, in this instance, was Charlie's reaction when she eventually learned what lengths he had gone to in order to secure her freedom…

"Ruzek—you sure you're up for this?" Voight said then, redirecting his attention to the younger man, and regarding him with an expression that was equal parts inquiring, and appraising while he awaited a response.

"Yeah, Sarge, I got this"

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure," Ruzek confirmed, straightening his posture and stowing both hands in his jeans' pockets, while simultaneously glancing at Olinsky for help and finding none to be forthcoming, "I won't mess this up."

"I know you won't. You have any trouble, you know how to reach me."

"Got it, Sarge."

"Alright," Voight began, heading towards the car Ruzek had just vacated, and waving a hand to get Olinsky to do the same, "You get a chance to get anything out of her, you take it, Ruzek. We need whatever we can get to find this son of a bitch and put him away before he can take her down with him."

"I'll do my best," Ruzek replied, watching as his partner, and his superior climbed into the vehicle, and exhaling slowly as he came to the realization that waiting out here in the driveway was not going to make his job any easier…

He could only hope that, perhaps by some miracle, Voight's daughter wouldn't be as much of a ball-buster as her father could be.

…

**Well hello there, angels, and welcome to another new chapter! I hope you all can forgive me for the slight delay, and for it being just a bit shorter than my usual work. I had to study big time for a required law test to get a pharmacy license in another state for my job, and that took up more of my time than I would have liked. That said, though, I hope you enjoyed what you found here, and like always, I cannot wait to hear what you think!**

**Special thanks go out to everyone who read, followed, favorited, and reviewed last chapter (and in particular, July, Dara, Joana, and my two guests, I absolutely loved hearing your input on everything regarding chapter four!) I truly do appreciate your time and support, and I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last! **

**Up next? Ruzek and Charlie's first meeting! Yay!**

**Until next time, loves…**

**MOMM**


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie was sitting on the sofa when the man walked in, a mug of hot coffee clutched between two hands, and one brow quirked skyward as she waited for his gaze to finally land upon her. For a moment, she almost thought that he would overlook her entirely, his attention obviously rather more focused upon taking in the scenery of the house itself. And although she knew why that might have been the case—after all, how many days was it that any of her father's employees found themselves in his home—Charlie could not help but give in to the urge to clear her throat and effectively distract her newfound companion from his apparent distraction, his gaze snapping to hers while he took a step back as though stunned he was not, in fact, as alone as he might have thought.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Charlie repeated, suppressing a grin, and rearranging herself on the sofa so that she could lean forward and reach for the remote to place the television on mute before going on, "That's all you've got?"

"I—ah—sorry," The man corrected, shaking himself minutely and forcing himself to move just a bit further into the den, with one hand seeking refuge inside a jeans pocket, "You must be Charlie."

"The one and only. And you must be the poor soul stuck watching me all day, instead of doing real police work."

"Your dad gave me the impression this would be very much like real police work—"

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know your father very well?"

"Oh I wouldn't call it that," Charlie mused, pausing to take a sip of her coffee, and savoring the warmth of the liquid even in spite of her reluctance to be in her current predicament in the first place, "More like a lucky guess."

"So you don't know him well?"

"Does anyone?"

"Fair point," The man acknowledged, moving towards the sofa, and glancing at the empty space beside where Charlie herself was seated, before returning his attention to the young woman herself with a slightly raised brow, "May I?"

"I don't know—I'm not in the habit of sitting next to complete strangers."

"Oh—God, sorry. Adam. Adam Ruzek."

"Well, Adam Ruzek—take a seat," Charlie instructed, suppressing her amusement as she caught sight of a faint flush adorning her companion's cheeks, and the manner in which he chose to take the proffered seat, all the while carefully avoiding her gaze. For some reason, though it ordinarily never troubled her at all, now, she found herself rather poignantly aware that she was still in her pajamas, her hair thrown back into a haphazard ponytail, and a frayed old throw blanket draped across her legs. But before such a thought could take root completely in her mind, Charlie found herself rather mercifully capable of pushing it aside, her own gaze straying toward a loose thread on the blanket for a moment before she gathered the wherewithal to speak once more.

"I suppose a polite hostess would offer you coffee—"

"I suppose she would."

"So?"

"Ah—black? Two sugars?" Ruzek requested, something about the prospect of Hank Voight's daughter preparing _coffee _for him, of all things, causing his brow to furrow, as though he could not reconcile the simple task with the woman now rising from the couch with her own mug in hand, and stepping carefully around his outstretched legs to head back to the kitchen before he remembered his manners, "Please."

"Got it."

Brow furrowed at the utter domesticity of the current situation, Charlie found herself shaking her head in abject disbelief as she reentered the kitchen and headed back to the cupboard for another mug, her reluctance to be sharing her space with a complete stranger tempered just a bit by the rather obvious fact that her companion appeared to be equally disconcerted, and out of his element, as well. Somehow, it was almost comforting, knowing that she was not alone, in that regard, though she would never admit to such a thing out loud. And although she was still not entirely rid of the desire to wonder why it was that her father had decided to take her in, rather than allowing her to be carted off to jail, Charlie did what she could to force her mind away from such thoughts, choosing to focus instead upon the mundanity of pouring another cup of coffee for both herself, and her unanticipated guest, before heading back towards the den with both in hand.

"Thank you—"

"Any time," Charlie replied, being careful to avoid any sort of contact with Adam's hands as she handed over the spare mug of coffee, and once again stepped over his legs before resuming her seat beside him, "I'll warn you, this is about as far as my domestic capabilities go, at the moment—"

"Fine by me. We can do take-out for lunch."

"Exactly how long did my dad tell you to stay here?"

"For as long as it takes for him to get back," Ruzek supplied, aware of the slight fall in his companion's expression, and suppressing his own amusement as he managed a sip of the coffee she had given him before speaking any further, "You didn't really think he'd let you be alone, did you?"

"No. No, I suppose I really didn't," Charlie confessed, squirming a bit beneath the apparent watchfulness in her companion's gaze, and choosing to redirect her own towards the coffee mug held between her hands. In truth, she couldn't explain it—the reason behind her sudden sense of uncertainty, particularly as _he _was the stranger in her home, not her. But no matter her own feelings of slight indignation that she felt so ill at ease at the present, through both the presence of Adam himself, and her obviously terse conversations with her father combined, Charlie forced herself to avoid letting that show as much as she could, her shoulders squaring just a bit as she took a deep breath, and brought her attention back to the man before her once again.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"That you're stuck here, with me, when you'd be better off doing your job."

"I think your father and I would both agree that I _am _doing my job," Adam said, aware of how Charlie's blue eyes appeared to have narrowed for just a moment, before she had carefully rearranged her features into something more akin to the neutral mask she had adopted when he first arrived, "The man wants to keep you safe, Charlie."

"Safe? I think the better term for that is prisoner."

"How so?"

"You can't tell me you don't see it," Charlie stated, incredulity coloring her tone no matter how much she may have wished to avoid it, "How many other people get a personal guard service in their own home?"

"Witness protection—"

"That's what you think this is?"

"In a way. From what I gather, your partner left you hanging. My guess is he won't want to risk you talking about what it is the two of you were doing."

"You think he would actually try and take me out? That's—laughable."

"Is it, though?" Adam pressed, raising a brow, and watching his companion carefully for any sign of a tell that would indicate he was on the right track. In truth, he had not anticipated getting around to the subject of Charlie's enforced house arrest this quickly in the game, having been given every reason to believe that she would put up a fight from Voight's own mouth. But despite all of his apparent suppositions, he was not about to let the opportunity escape without trying to do as he had been instructed, his next words tentative, as he watched Charlie lean back against the cushions of the sofa before he spoke again, "We see it all the time. Guys lose track of their accomplices—those accomplices become a liability—"

"I'm hardly a liability."

"Really? Did this guy you ran around with know who you were related to?"

"No. And unless you guys start publicizing it, I don't see why he'd have any reason to find out."

"We aren't going to be publicizing it—"

"Then I think I'm quite safe, don't you? Even if my 'accomplice', as you call him, does decide to seek revenge," Charlie assured, placing her now-empty coffee mug on the table before the sofa, and leaning back against the cushions once again with arms folded across her chest, "But this is all hypothetical of course."

"You seem awfully certain of that."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you don't strike me as someone that exhibits blind trust all that often," Adam remarked, aware of how Charlie's expression appeared to have tightened just a bit, her lips pursed into a thin line as though she had somehow taken offense at his assertion regardless of his desire to avoid that outcome, "What is it about this guy that's different?"

"You can't actually think I'd tell you that—"

"A man can dream."

"You'll be dreaming for a long time, then," Charlie quipped, managing a faint grin for her companion's benefit, before standing from her place upon the sofa, and stretching with her arms held above her head, her spine emitting only a soft crack of protest as a result, "Think you can amuse yourself with that while I go upstairs to change?"

Not even waiting for an answer, Charlie skirted around Ruzek's outstretched legs once again, and headed towards the stairs that would take her back to her bedroom, something in the man's expression almost—_almost—_provoking a laugh in spite of her desire to avoid it. It was apparent she had caught him off guard, the almost selfish satisfaction that she felt as a result coming very near to overwhelming her desire to keep from showing such an emotion outright. But in spite of the almost compulsive tug that amusement made against the edges of his mouth, Charlie managed to resist, only turning her head back at the last possible moment as she placed a hand upon the bannister so that she could risk one final glance at the man who her father had chosen as her keeper for the better portion of the day ahead.

Regardless of her desire to avoid it, she could not help but feel sorry for him, knowing that no matter how he may deny it, his time would clearly be better served elsewhere…

Despite her attempts to appear otherwise, Charlie had no doubt in her mind that she was about as pleasant a charge as a surly teenager after being caught trying to evade parental authority for the umpteenth time.

…

"You going to check in eventually?" Detective Alvin Olinsky inquired, draining the last of the bitter coffee in the Styrofoam cup he held, and tossing the dregs in a nearby trashcan before Voight managed to give him a reply.

"You saying I've got reason to doubt Ruzek's ability to handle this?"

"Not at all."

"Then why would I need to check in?"

"Because she's your daughter," Olinsky explained, suppressing a sigh at his employer's obviously mystified expression, and running a hand across his features for a moment before going on, "You want to give her a reason to stay, it might be helpful if she knew you cared."

"She knows, Alvin."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I think I am," Voight replied, risking a glance at Halstead and Lindsay as they returned from the errand he had set them on mere hours before, "There something you're not telling me?"

"No."

"Then why are you suddenly questioning my parenting?"

"Because this particular situation seems to require a bit of a delicate touch," Alvin began, aware of the tell-tale manner in which Voight seemed to jam his hands inside his jeans pockets, both brows lifted in obvious skepticism over the idea as a whole, and yet choosing to press forward, regardless, "And I think you and I know each other well enough by now for me to say you don't always have something like that in your arsenal."

Remaining silent in the wake of his colleague's assertion, Voight spared a moment in silent consideration, something in him acknowledging the rightness of Alvin's claim, though he had not a clue exactly how to bring that claim to fruition. It was no secret that things between he and Charlie had been strained for quite a while, despite what he thought were his best efforts to remedy that very fact. Briefly, he allowed his thoughts to stray back to a time when she had been nothing more than his little girl, not some stranger that he barely knew, and that didn't seem to want to know him at all. But of course, before he could become too distracted by such musings, his attention was rather effectively diverted by Halstead's approach, his expression more than a little apprehensive as he risked a glance at Olinsky before addressing his superior head-on.

"We took a look into those names you mentioned, boss," The younger man began, noting the slight sharpening in Voight's expression, and yet refusing to back down, regardless, "Not one of them turned up anything we don't already know."

"Which is?"

"That this guy knows how to cover his tracks," Jay explained, risking a glance at Erin when she appeared at his side, though that did little to relieve him of the intensity of Voight's gaze, "Though he wasn't so careful about covering Charlie's."

"What do you mean?"

"They've been collared before. Or rather, she has. Under different names, each time. A name per city—"

"And none of these other cities have a record of the asshole leaving her hung out to dry every time she gets scooped up?"

"According to their HQ, no. They don't."

"Who the hell is this guy? You can't expect me to believe he just vanishes into thin air every time things get tough," Voight demanded, regarding Halstead with a look that would have been unnerving, had the younger man not understood the exact cause behind his superior's apparent frustration.

Jay knew as well as the rest of them that if they didn't find anything leading them to the man behind it all, Charlie would be the one behind bars…

"A guy that can vanish like this—that leads me to believe that we're dealing with something bigger than just a pimp selling his goods in any city that will have him," Erin suggested, noticing the appreciative glance her partner sent her way, and managing a faint nod in response before turning her attention back towards Voight, himself, "We need to figure out his end game."

"And I trust you've come up with a suitable way of doing that," Voight intoned, shifting on his feet as a means of relieving some of the tension that had crept between his shoulder blades, though he knew somehow that the effort would almost immediately prove to be futile, "Care to elaborate?"

"We need to find a way of bringing him out in the open. Getting him to let his guard down might just make him do something that gives us enough to make an arrest."

"Go on."

"I think Charlie might be able to help us on that count," Erin pressed, steeling herself against the predictable darkening in Voight's expression, and risking a step closer towards him in order to make her case as best she could, "If you let me talk to her, I think I can convince her that this is our best option."

"And if she refuses?" Voight countered, suspicion weighing heavily upon his mind, in spite of the fact that he trusted Erin Lindsay as implicitly as though she were his own blood. There was absolutely no reason for him to doubt that she had his daughter's best interests in mind, particularly given their own close relationship since almost the first moment he had brought Erin into his home. But no matter how he may have wished to avoid it, Voight was not entirely capable of fighting the skepticism that lingered in his mind at the prospect of Charlie going into what Erin proposed willingly, her reaction when he suggested she turn against the man who had landed her here replaying once again despite his awareness that Erin was already answering his inquiry with the very confidence that had drawn his notice in the first place.

"She won't. Not if you let me do this _my _way."

"Am I allowed to know what 'your way' is?"

"As soon as I finalize the idea, yeah, I think you are," Erin replied, aware of the questioning look on Olinsky's features, and shaking her head minutely to ward off any questions on his part so that she could focus solely on Voight, instead, "Come _on_, Hank, you know I can do this. Whatever else she is, Charlie is like a sister to me. I want this guy as bad as you do."

Aware that she was sincere—that of all people, Erin Lindsay was one of the few that he could believe without a doubt would persuade Charlie to see reason when he, himself, could not—Voight forced himself to manage a terse nod, the briefest flares of satisfaction in Erin's features serving as enough to assure him she would not let him down. Of course, he was not so foolish as to believe that Charlie would give in without a fight, even to a friend as loyal as he knew Lindsay had already proven herself to be. But even that suspicion was not entirely enough to give him pause when it was so apparent that they needed to accept whatever avenue remained open to him when it came to getting his daughter in the clear.

Even if she fought him at every turn, he would be damned if he saw Charlie behind bars.

…

Having been left to his own devices for what felt like ages in the home of his employer, while the man's daughter had ventured upstairs, Adam Ruzek found himself pondering exactly how in hell he had managed to land _this _particular assignment, when it was fairly obvious he was in over his head. Naturally, he did not blame his status as the unit's rookie for his current predicament. Not really, despite the fact that he knew there were others back at the precinct who possessed far more knowledge and experience than he. But regardless of whether he might have fared better, had he possessed such knowledge before setting foot in Voight's home, absolutely all of it fell rather abruptly to the wayside in light of the reality that now stood before him.

He ought to have known she was taking far too long for the simple act of changing clothes, and yet he had allowed himself to be lured into the false sense of security that she would be true to her word, only to find that such a belief was about the furthest thing from the truth.

God, but Voight was going to kill him…

Glancing once again towards the partially opened window, Adam suppressed a groan before walking towards it as though he truly believed he would be able to look down and find Charlie simply perching in the tree beside it, one brow cocked at him before she delivered the quip he knew he would have deserved. He could practically hear her voice, taunting him for not trusting her—for having the audacity to barge into her room as though he belonged there. But the fact of the matter remained, no matter how he might have wished for such a simple solution, even if it meant facing the icy distance that the young woman had enforced upon him since their initial meeting, Charlie was _not_ nearby, and he would have to alert her father to that very fact sooner, rather than later.

And after the man knew? Well, he might as well kiss a career in Hank Voight's Intelligence Unit goodbye.

With what felt like the hundredth resigned sigh in a mere five minutes, Adam reached for the cell that was in his back pocket, his free hand shutting the window and turning the lock back where it belonged before he flipped the device open, and punched Voight's number on speed dial. He could already anticipate the man's disappointment—the anger that, even though he did not want to admit it, would be well deserved. But no matter what consequences he might have to face for his actions, or inaction, such as it was, he was also smart enough to know that keeping the reality of the situation under wraps any longer was about as foolish as showing up drunk for a day on the job.

Somehow, as he waited for the seemingly endless ringing of Voight's phone to end when his employer answered his call, Ruzek thought intoxication might be more forgivable than what he was about to confess to, now.

"What is it, Ruzek?" Voight's gravelly voice inquired, something in the hard quality to the older man's tone seeming to indicate that he might already have some suspicion over what exactly it was that had prompted the call in the first place, "Spill it, kid. I ain't got all day."

"We have a, ah—a bit of a situation, here, boss," Ruzek began, silently cursing the manner in which his voice seemed to waver, though he knew full well that such a reaction was not unwarranted.

"And?"

"The proverbial chicken appears to have flown the coop."

"I'll be right there," Came the clipped reply, before the line went dead, and Adam was once again stowing his phone back inside his pocket so that he could move to exit Charlie's bedroom in favor of heading back downstairs. Although some part of him was still chafing over the obvious slight to his ego that Charlie's disappearing act had provoked, he had to hand it to her for possessing enough determination to make a break for it in spite of his presence, and the potential that the act alone had for ruining her chances at getting out of this without jail time. And in spite of the fact that he knew he was about to catch hell for something he honestly should have seen coming, Adam was not entirely willing to allow the impending cut-down to intimidate him, an expression not all that far from abject determination taking over his features as he returned to the den, and sat down to wait for the inevitable.

Regardless of his apprehension, he would not have it said that he met the ire of his superior with anything less than a brave face.

…

**Well hello there, darlings! And welcome, at least, to a brand new chapter! I honestly don't have a sufficient excuse for the delay since the last update, other than allowing myself to get pulled into other fandoms (again?) and the stories inspired by those fandoms as a result. But I truly do hope that I haven't lost any of you in the process, because I can promise you I am nowhere near finished with this tale!**

**As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time out of their busy lives to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far, and to those of you that have possessed the patience to stick with me in spite of my sporadic updates! Special thanks, of course, go out to last chapter's reviewers, as well (this means you, July, Dara, Joana, Celine, and my two guests)! I would be nowhere without your kind words of support, and I hope you know exactly how much your reviews inspire me to keep going with this story! Like always, I look forward to reading your thoughts on this chapter! I hope you enjoy!**

**Until next time, my angels…**

**MOMM**


	7. Chapter 7

Despite her relief over having managed to gain her freedom from her father's house even in spite of the obvious guard dog he had placed their to keep her in one place, Charlie could not help but feel sorry for the man she had left behind, particularly in light of how she knew he would be the one to face her father's disappointment and frustration long before she ever would. She could picture it clearly in her mind—her father's face as he stormed through the front door, barking out orders and demanding to know what the hell had happened before he had even taken three steps over the threshold. Adam Ruzek was not likely to have an easy afternoon and evening because of what she had done. And although she could persuade herself to at least acknowledge her guilt over that very fact, such as it was, Charlie was not about to allow it to force her to turn back, her hands jamming inside her jacket pockets in search of warmth as she jogged across the street before the blinking light could turn a solid red.

She would be damned if she went and got herself flattened by a car just when she had managed to regain her freedom…

Suppressing a grin at the thought, in spite of how it was realistically very far from funny, Charlie hurried down the street and ducked into a side-alley, the distinct smell of rotting food scraps and other debris causing her to wrinkle her nose as she moved. Her feet seemed to move on instinct, tracing the steps she had taken for the very first time what felt like ages ago, when Mack had shown her the place they were to meet if the law ever tried to separate them. They had a place like it in every city they had lived in thus far. Somewhere to reunite and slip away before a more permanent separation were to befall them. And although some small part of her wondered if she was a fool for sending him the text to tell him she was coming here, rather than staying in her father's house and hoping he would actually stand a chance of getting her out of this himself, Charlie all but refused to acknowledge it and give in to the doubt it provided, instead choosing to grit her teeth and hurry towards the end of the alleyway until she came out into the narrow lane beyond.

_Left or right_?

Motionless for a moment, Charlie glanced first one way, and then the next, her brow furrowing as she did what she could to think back to the last time she had come this way. Despite her best efforts, doing so only seemed to darken her mood, as though some sort of instinctive sense of foreboding was aware that her efforts would prove futile, no matter how she might wish otherwise. Though she had tried to avoid it, her father's words seemed to echo over and over in her head, telling her this was a sign. That the only reason she had been scooped up and retained in custody for as long as she had was a clear indication that Mack had left her behind.

She knew that if she did nothing save for continue thinking along those lines, she would easily lose her mind.

Shaking herself before she could do exactly that, Charlie turned on a heel and headed left, her boots splashing in puddles of rain water that had not yet evaporated beneath the heat of the sun above. A frown marred her features as she moved, as though in spite of her efforts, her body had already concluded that she was on her own. But of course, stubborn determination to prove herself—her father—everyone that seemed to doubt her wrong won out, at least for the time being, speeding her steps and causing any who might have attempted to draw her into conversation as she passed reason to forgo the effort entirely and keep to themselves.

To say that she was anything other than grateful for that very fact would have been a lie.

Still, Charlie could not entirely shake the notion that she was committing an act without true purpose, even as she pushed through the foot traffic on the sidewalk before her until she neared the corner she sought. Without hesitation, she turned once again, taking the steps that cropped up almost as soon as she had done so two at a time until she reached the top. And although she once again found herself thinking back to the man she had left behind to face her father's wrath, she could not help but feel some small sense of relief once the place she and Mack had chosen came into sight, her steps only quickening while she simultaneously glanced about her surroundings to ensure she was not being watched.

Mack had always made it perfectly clear that if either of them perceived the slightest hint of a tail, they would leave immediately, and return another day, at another time. Absolutely nothing was worth the price of getting caught.

Not even their own life.

With such a thought in mind, Charlie headed towards a bench that was situated beneath a large clocktower, her gaze constantly perusing the surrounding area as she moved. Nothing seemed to stand out, though in the back of her mind the thought remained that if any of her father's men were searching here, they would very likely succeed in keeping out of sight.

If only she could forget that particular thought as quickly as it had come to mind.

Determined to ignore it, if it would not leave her mind completely, Charlie closed the distance between herself and the bench as quickly as she could, a shaky breath escaping as she took a seat, and glanced back at the way from which she had come. It did not appear that she had been followed, at least for the time-being—and although she knew that it was foolish, Charlie could not help but force herself to acknowledge the vague sense of relief that came along with the thought, her posture relaxing just a bit as she settled in to wait.

She would deal with what came next if Mack did not make an appearance at a later time.

…

"This her, Mack?" Anton asked, tossing his cell towards the man in question, and watching as he flipped it open to glance at the texted photograph on the screen for only a matter of seconds before he replied.

"Yeah. That's her."

"Want me to tell Jimmy to scoop her up?"

A moment's silence passed between the two men in response to the inquiry, though if asked at a later time, Mack would have denied its existence entirely. In truth, he was still more than a little surprised that he and Charlie had made it this far, when none of the other girls he had gotten involved with had possessed her apparent tenacity and determination. But before he could get too distracted by where such thoughts might take him, Mack snapped the phone shut and tossed it back to Anton, his tone curt as he cleared his throat in preparation for his reply.

"Yeah. Bring her in."

"How you want it done? Same as before?" Anton inquired, aware of the obvious tightening in his partner's expression, and quirking a brow in response despite knowing that such a thing was perhaps not very wise, "Look, it's a valid question."

"No one touches a hair on her head, Anton. You got that?"

"Want to do that part yourself?"

Before he was even fully aware of it, Mack had Anton pinned against the nearby wall, one arm at his throat while the other latched onto the gun at his belt to place it against the other man's stomach. Almost immediately, Anton's grey eyes had widened, the pressure of the weapon against his stomach causing him to lift both hands in an open gesture of surrender. And although he was fairly certain that Mack was not about to do what it appeared he was, the younger man would have been a fool to pretend that he did not feel the faintest sparks of fear, regardless, self-preservation prompting him to remain absolutely still until the anger had begun to subside from his partner's eyes, and the gun was withdrawn from its position against his abdomen bit by bit.

"No one touches a hair on her head. Just bring her in."

Aware of his partner's apparent downturn in mood, Anton simply nodded in response to his newest set of instructions, his attention going to his phone as he moved to the doorway, and prepared to exit the room. He knew what it would mean for him if this grab went wrong. And yet, despite that awareness, he was also well aware of what would happen if they failed, his attention turning to dialing the number he knew would place Jimmy at the other end of the line, only a single ring transpiring before a familiar voice sounded in his ear.

"Yeah."

"We've got her. Boss wants you to bring her in. Unharmed."

"That word has a rather broad definition in my experience," Jimmy rasped, a chuckle escaping, and sending shivers down Anton's spine no matter how much he tried to avoid it, "You got the when and where?"

"Yeah. Let me know when your pen and paper's ready."

"Haven't you learned by now, Anton? They're always ready."

Leave it to Mack to have a man notorious for literally living for his job only a phone call away…

…

"Boss, I'm sorry—"

"How the hell did she get out?" Voight cut in, his attention fixed on Ruzek, despite the fact that they stood in Charlie's old room, the remains of what must have been an intriguing childhood surrounding them while the rookie hurried to reply.

"Through that window. And a rather conveniently placed tree."

"A tree I should've cut down years ago."

"She make a habit of doing this before?" Ruzek inquired, a wince passing over his features almost immediately after speaking in response to the sharp look he encountered from Voight in response, "Sarge, I only meant—"

"Yeah. Yeah, she's done this before."

"Any idea where she might've gone when she did?"

"She was in high school then, Ruzek. I doubt she went to the same place, now," Voight bit out, moving towards the window to peer out at the ground below, and holding back a sigh of resignation as he shut and locked the window once again and turned back to face the newest addition to the Intelligence Unit to address him once more, "Get Antonio and Halstead out here. Have Olinsky call me when they arrive."

"Where are you going to go?"

"Somewhere that, if she _is _there, she won't want anyone else intruding."

Before Ruzek could say or do anything to stop him, Voight had headed back down the stairs, the sound of the front door opening, and closing once more within seconds alerting him to the fact that, but for Alvin's presence downstairs, he was once again alone. In truth, he was surprised that his superior had not lingered there longer, if for no other reason than to lay into him about how brilliantly he had failed in the one simple task he had been given. But regardless of how he felt about Voight's rather abrupt departure, Adam was not foolish enough to pretend he was not grateful, his attention turning back to the décor in Charlie's room as a means of both distraction, and insight into where she might have gone as well.

If nothing else, gaining a little more information about what the obviously troubled young woman was like, even if that information was a few years old, might help him come up with a way of finding her now, and clearing his name, as a result…

Despite his hopes of finding something that might prove useful, however, Adam found himself faced with nothing more than mementos of a life long past, the pictures of Charlie with her friends, and jewelry and clothing long forgotten giving him nothing to go on save for the impression that the young woman had left home in what must have been a hurry, never looking back. It was no secret that she harbored uncertain feelings towards her father, even in the best of times, the relative lack of photographs showing the two of them in the same vicinity giving even further proof to a relationship that had clearly often been strained. But perhaps what surprised him more than the clear lack of a bond between father and daughter was the absence of any evidence of Charlie's relationship with her mother, as well—

He knew as well as anyone else the circumstances of her passing, but he would have believed that if Charlie had kept her father at a distance that perhaps she would have had her mother on her side, instead.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

Still, it seemed curious that Charlie would have distanced herself from both of her parents, especially at such a young age, and given the fact that Hank Voight hardly seemed the sort to allow anything but the most forthcoming of behaviors from his own child. And although he was half tempted to give the room a second going-over in the hopes of finding _something _that could give some insight into where Charlie might have gone, Adam forced himself to turn back toward the stairs so he could rejoin Alvin in the den below, a frown marring his features as he took in how the older man was regarding him as one might a dog they were about to put down.

"Don't look at me like that, Al. I know I messed up."

"You did more than that, kid. Don't think you've heard the end of it just because Voight left."

"What did he expect me to do? Go in there and watch her take her clothes off?"

"He expected you to keep her _here_," Olinsky said, watching with interest as the younger man took a seat on the sofa, and slumped so that his head could rest in his hands, "She was in the wind for years, and now she might end up that way again, or worse."

"Or worse? What the hell are you talking about?" Ruzek asked, glancing at his would-be partner, and noting that Olinsky's expression seemed far more serious than it might have been if Voight's anger were the only thing they faced at the current moment, "You think this guy'll come after her?"

"He'd be an idiot if he didn't. He's managed to evade the police for this long, and he can't have done that by being stupid."

"I heard Voight mention something about him having other women. Before he came upstairs—"

"It's a theory we're working on," Alvin confirmed, running a hand across his exhausted features, and shifting so that he could lean with his back against the wall while he faced his colleague head-on, "Some of the cities with reports on similar activity to what Charlie was doing for this guy while she was still in Chicago."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was, kid."

"You think he'd actually hurt her?"

"Kind of hard to think otherwise. She knows too much. And if he finds out who she's related to—"

A beat of silence existed between them in the wake of Alvin's words, their lack of reliable knowledge regarding this man's whereabouts and motivations doing nothing to assuage the sudden tension that had taken over the room as a result of what was being discussed. Both of them knew what could happen if Alvin's fears were in fact closer to the mark than they thought, just as they knew it would serve as ample explanation for why Voight had allowed Adam to escape relatively unscathed, at least for the moment, after allowing his daughter to disappear right beneath his nose. If he thought it more prudent to find Charlie, and deal with Adam's transgression at a later point, it hinted that he was inclined to believe Olinsky's suspicions were right. And if that were true—

"If he finds out who she's related to, she's dead."

Adam knew that his mistake might end up costing them in more ways than one.

…

After what felt like ages sitting on the bench, and finding no evidence to prove that Mack would come for her, Charlie found herself finally forced to the conclusion that she was every bit as alone as her father had intimated when he first took her in, her shoulders slumping in disappointment despite her efforts to prevent the act in its entirety. She could look around at her surroundings all she liked, she supposed, as though determined to remain rooted to the spot until her foolish dreams came true. But at the end of the day, which was so obviously drawing near, if the pink tinge to the sky as the sun started to sink beneath the horizon were any indication, she would still have nothing more to show for her efforts at loyalty and steadfast resolve than she had possessed when she had first woken up—a reality that had her dashing at an errant tear or two as they stung at the backs of her eyes before attempting to make the trek down her cheeks, and rose to stand in spite of the protest of her long-dormant muscles.

One final glance served as the would-be nail in the coffin of her hope that Mack would meet her here, her expression hardening as she squared her shoulders and began to retreat towards the way from which she had come earlier that day. In truth, she did not know whether it would be wiser to return to her father's home, or to simply strike out on her own, and hope for the best. She had no money to speak of. No clothes, save for the ones upon her back. And although she was loath to give her father the satisfaction of knowing that he was right, Charlie would have been a fool to pretend that she could make it very far without some manner of assistance, no matter what that help might do to wound her already shattered pride.

She knew very well that if she attempted to seek aid from the wrong sort of person in this city, she could end up worse off than she already was.

With that type of thought lingering in her mind, Charlie forced herself to continue down the steps that had led her to the bench, her hands once again seeking refuge inside her jacket pockets while her eyes remained riveted upon the ground. It would have been a lie for her to pretend that she desired nothing more than to somehow gain the ability to simply sink into the ground, before she returned to the scrutiny that surely awaited her at home. But she was equally as reluctant to spend the night alone, no matter how she might pretend to enjoy distancing herself from anyone and everyone that got close enough to her to care. And it was that feeling in and of itself that prompted her to fish her cell from her pocket and bring it to her ear after dialing the familiar number, in hopes that her old friend would not have gotten a new cell in the years since they had last been in touch.

Although Erin Lindsay was one of her father's inner circle, now, Charlie knew that she could trust her to keep silent regarding her whereabouts until she was ready to have them disclosed…

…

The sound of her cell phone ringing from inside her pants pocket pulled Erin out of her internal musings with a start, one glance at the screen prompting her to furrow her brow as she tried and failed to recognize the number. For a moment, she was half-tempted to simply allow the call to go to voicemail, particularly as she would have been better served by paying attention to what was going on right in front of her. But whether it was instinct, or something stronger, Erin was not blind to the sudden sense of urgency she felt as she attempted to stow her phone away once more, thus choosing instead to make an apologetic gesture to Voight before she was stepping into the kitchen that adjoined the foyer and den of his home to take the call as quietly as she dared.

"Hello?"

"I can't believe you kept the same number all these years—"

"_Charlie_?!"

"The one and only," The familiar voice quipped, what might have passed for a laugh crossing the line before it was disappearing in favor of something far more urgent, instead, "Are you alone?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Is my dad with you?"

"No. He's in the other room," Erin supplied, glancing back at the room in question, and stepping just a bit farther into the kitchen in hopes it would muffle whatever parts of her conversation made it through to that area of the house, "I take it you don't want him to know about this."

"You know me too well," Charlie confirmed, her tone almost unreadable as she exhaled on the other end of the line before going on, "I—Erin, I need to ask you a favor."

"Anything."

"Can I—stay with you for a couple days?"

"What, and keep it a secret? How long do you think that would last?"

"Long enough for me to get back on my feet and get the hell out of town."

"And when your dad kicks ass for helping you to do that?" Erin pressed, half amused at Charlie's tenacity, and half frustrated that she was trying to drag her into her plan, as well, despite how they had gotten each other into equal shares of trouble growing up, "Listen, we're just trying to keep you safe."

"And I can _be _safe. But I can't—I can't do that here. I can't, Erin, so if I don't have your help—"

"You'll leave on your own."

The silence on the other end of the line was enough of a conversation, even if Charlie had decided to give a verbal reply as well, the sense of urgency she had felt at the initiation of the call only growing as she glanced towards the other room once more, and allowed herself the smallest satisfaction that she had not been followed, at least for the time-being. Truthfully, she did not know how long she had before one of the men decided to come looking for her, just as she did not know how long she could stall before Charlie gave up and was lost to them for good. And so, in spite of her own misgivings, Erin forced herself to turn her attention back to the call at hand, her next words carrying far more certainty than she thought they had any right to under the circumstances.

"Where do you want to meet?"

"Where else?"

"Sounds good to me," Charlie acknowledged, something in her tone indicating her amusement over the prospect of returning to one of their favorite haunts as teens, though Erin could not see the proof upon her face, "I can be there in five."

"I'll try to do the same," Erin replied, running a hand through her hair, and leaning against the kitchen counter for a moment before going on, "And Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"No side trips. We'll go from there, straight to my place. Nothing in between."

Whether Charlie would or wouldn't have agreed to those terms, Erin never knew, as the next sound she heard was a muffled shriek before the line went dead, and she was left in the silence of the kitchen on her own. She only lingered there a moment, her heart pounding in her ears while she clutched at the countertop until her legs no longer felt like they were about to give way beneath her, knowing full well that calling Charlie's name repeatedly as she had been half-tempted to do would prove of no more use to her than attempting to dial the number her friend had called from, to see if she would pick up. And then she was heading back into the den with her cell still clutched tightly in her right hand, her voice rising over the chatter that was transpiring there in her absence so that she could be heard, while her eyes immediately sought and held Voight's.

"We have a problem…"

No matter his reaction to her attempt at a secret conversation with his daughter, Erin knew that Voight had every right to know that she might be in more danger now than she had been before.

…

**Well hello there, my lovelies! And welcome (finally!) to a brand new chapter! Once again, time seems to have gotten away from me, due to holiday plans and other wayward muses, as well. But it is my sincerest hope that I have not lost any of you in the process, because I can assure you, I am nowhere near done with this tale!**

**As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite, and review this story so far (Julie, July, Dara, Guest, ChiTown4ever, Fairy Tail Master23, and Charlie, this means you)! I truly do appreciate the support, and as always, I cannot wait to hear what you think of this latest installment! Never a dull moment for our girl, huh? ;D**

**Until next time, dear ones!**

**MOMM**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey there! Before we get started on the chapter, proper, I want to alert you all to a little soundtrack I've created for Charlie's tale! It's over on Spotify, if you are interested, and the link can be found below (just remove the spaces, and add 'https' before typing it in the search bar)! I hope you enjoy, and without further ado, I give you the next chapter! Enjoy!**

** open . spotify playlist / 43hZpcbVrSzAr46kobJvkW**

**…**

Charlie came to an unknown amount of time later, a soft groan escaping her lips as she realized the vivid pounding at her temples was coming from inside her skull. A quick glance at her surroundings gave her no inclination of exactly where she was, or who had brought her here. And although she would have been a fool to pretend that she was not frightened at the prospect of exactly what kind of mess she had gotten herself into now, she was simultaneously determined to put on a strong front, regardless.

Knowing what she did about what her father did for a living, she knew playing the part of the damsel in distress would only get her so far…

With that thought in mind, Charlie began the attempt at sitting upright, only to find that the act caused both of her shoulders to emit faint pops in protest, while spasms of pain shot down her arms to where her wrists were bound behind her back. Slumping back down on the bed, she gave an experimental squirm of her wrists to test the strength of those bonds, only to find that the act causes the material to dig into her skin in such a way that a hiss escaped before she could stop it. Unbidden, the sting of tears pricked at her eyes, forcing her to blink them away rapidly before they began to fall, and she found herself unable to maintain even the slightest façade of strength. And half in an effort to distract herself from her own anxiety, Charlie forced her attention to shift to the room she appeared to be locked in, instead, its utter lack of familiarity troubling, to say the least.

She could remember listening to her father talking about how a case could hinge on even the smallest of identifiers in location where a hostage was being held when she was just a little girl. It was something that she and her brother had used when they would reenact make believe crime scenes, and see which one of them could solve the mystery first. And yet now, when she needed it the most, she could find absolutely nothing distinguishable about this particular room, save for the cracking paint that spiderwebbed along the wall nearest the covered window, that could be identical to any other wall in any other house in disrepair.

Whatever she could or could not discern about the room in which she was being held, however, Charlie knew one thing for certain—she had vastly overestimated her ability to make it on her own. Whether she had been grabbed by some unknown rival of Mack's that he had not deigned fit to make her privy to, or by someone entirely random, she knew she had very little time to discern a successful plan of escape…

Though at the time, she had barely been certain what she'd heard, now that she had returned to consciousness, Charlie could hear the words growling into her ear as though the man who had clapped the damp rag over her mouth and nose were still standing by her side.

_"Time's up, bitch. You've reached the end of the road."_

In response to the memory of the voice echoing in her head, Charlie was entirely unable to resist the shiver that shook her frame, no matter how fiercely she wished to avoid it, a shaky sigh escaping as she squirmed around on the bed until she could see the door to the room she had been placed in. It, like the rest of the room, was relatively nondescript, its surface only marred by the occasional knick or scratch that indicated it had been slammed open often enough to bounce against the coat rack hanging on the wall behind it. But although Charlie was more than a little frustrated upon finding there was absolutely nothing she could see in the room itself that might give her a hint of exactly where she was, she was still determined to do whatever she could to rectify that situation as best she could.

It would hurt like hell trying to force herself upright in order to get over to the window for a peek outside, but if that was what it took to get out of this alive, she would do it a hundred times over even in spite of the pain.

Steeled by the thought, Charlie gritted her teeth and set to the task of attempting to right herself, regardless of the protest of the muscles in her shoulders and back, a soft groan escaping in spite of her desire to avoid it as she continued to shift until she could lever herself up on an elbow, and use that momentum to sit erect not long thereafter. From there, it was relatively simple to stand, and move as carefully and quietly as she could towards the window at the opposite end of the room, using her shoulder to nudge the blinds over so that she could attempt to catch a glimpse of the landscape immediately outside. From her current vantage point, she could make out a street corner not far from her current location, the flickering of the light atop the pole on that corner illuminating the surrounding area in fits and spurts. Clearly, she was not being held in what might be considered a good part of town, if the graffitied walls, and derelict buildings were any indication. But before she could perform anything more than a cursory investigation of what little she could see of her surroundings from the window she stood beside, the door of the room she had been stowed in was slamming open, the sound of the impact causing her to jump despite the fact that she had known this moment would come all along.

"So—you're awake," The familiar voice began, the obvious indifference in Mack's tone causing a chill to race down Charlie's spine as she turned to face him, and did what she could to avoid allowing the betrayal that knifed at her heart to show upon her features, "And trying to plan an escape, from the looks of it."

"Maybe I'm just taking in the scenery," Charlie quipped, watching carefully as Mack took the liberty of shutting the door behind him, and taking a half a step back as he moved farther into the room not long after, "You going to tell me what the hell it is we're doing, here?"

"Tying up loose ends, Charlie. You know how it is."

"Why here? Why now? I haven't told anyone a _thing _about what it was we were doing, Mack—"

"That doesn't mean that you wouldn't," Mack countered, effectively closing the distance between them, and consequently forcing Charlie to back into the wall, where her palms flattened against the surface in search of something—anything she could find to steady her fraying nerves, "The way I see it, it's only a matter of time until you decided to come clean. And I can't let that happen."

"It won't happen," Charlie protested, silently cursing the way in which her voice cracked in mid-sentence, and yet still finding the wherewithal to persuade herself to look Mack in the eye, regardless, "Come on, baby—you know you can trust me."

"Can I? Because you somehow neglected to mention that your father was a cop."

"I—how—"

"How did I know? I have my ways," Mack replied, one hand lifting to cup Charlie's cheek, despite how she flinched at the sensation of his skin brushing against her own, "My money is leaning towards you working for dear old dad all along."

"You're wrong."

"Bold of you to assume I would ever believe a word that came out of your mouth again."

"You should," Charlie stated, attempting to pull away from the touch of Mack's hand against her cheek, only to find that the gesture prompted him to drop the hand and curl his fingers lightly around her neck, instead, "My dad and I aren't exactly what you would call close."

"Close or not, if it meant saving your own ass, I have no doubt you wouldn't sell me to the highest bidder. And I'll be damned if I let that happen without retribution."

"Then you're taking your retribution out on the wrong person. If the police know anything about you, it wasn't from me."

"Have you forgotten, Charlie? The first move a rat makes is to pin that title on somebody else," Mack hissed, his fingers tightening their hold on his smaller companion's throat just a bit, while he simultaneously crowded her back against the wall such that his torso brushed against the fabric of her shirt, "I'm not falling for it. Not even from you."

"So, what are you going to do, Mack? Kill me?" Charlie inquired, swallowing in an attempt to minimize the panic that seemed all but determined to choke her, and frowning as the gesture only seemed to prompt Mack to tighten his hold upon her throat, "If you really think I told my father about us, how do you know he's not going to show up before you can do a thing to stop it?"

"Because as soon as I take care of you, we're leaving, babe. You know me well enough to see that coming."

"You seem to have given this a fair bit of thought."

"I wouldn't have been in this business as long as I have without it," Mack retorted, a half-smile turning up one corner of his mouth as he cocked his head to the side and regarded his would-be prisoner for a moment before going on, "Though it seems like such a waste getting rid of someone like you."

"Maybe you don't have to."

"Trust me, Charlie, no matter how much fun you are in bed, I'm not going to risk going to prison just to keep you alive."

"Why don't you just go ahead and get it over with, then? I'm not inclined to wait around, and I know you well enough to realize you don't enjoy dragging things out."

"This time Charlie, I think I might postpone the inevitable just a bit," Mack said, abandoning his hold on Charlie's throat in favor of allowing his hand to drift back towards her cheek before going on, "After what you did to me, leading me on like that, I think it's only fair."

"I wasn't leading you on, Mack. Not really," Charlie protested, once again forced to acknowledge the obvious crack in her voice, and doing what she could to ensure that her plea did not come off as too desperate, even in light of the fact that desperation was precisely what she was feeling at this particular moment, especially in the face of Mack's resultant reply.

"You were, babe. But don't worry. Lying sluts always get theirs, in the end…"

This would not be the first time Mack had been forced to put someone down because they had betrayed him, and it likely would not be the last.

…

"Were you able to trace the call?" Erin Lindsay inquired, coming to stand behind Jin's chair, and leaning over his shoulder to get a closer look at what had appeared upon his computer screen while waiting for his reply.

"I was. Though I'm not too sure it will do us any good, now."

"Why?"

"Because from what I can see based on the camera feeds, as soon as that call cut out, Charlie was gone."

"Maybe she left something behind?" Erin pressed, aware of the almost pitying look that Jin was leveling her way, and yet choosing to ignore it in favor of attempting to plead her case, "Did you get a look at any other cameras in the area? They could give us a hint of where she might have been taken—"

"Whoever did take her knew that, Erin. The other cameras were already put on a loop before our girl ever arrived."

"So we have nothing to go on. Nothing at all."

"Unless you end up finding something when you go to the location yourself," Jin agreed, aware that his comrade was taking this lack of encouraging news rather personally, and choosing to turn in the swivel chair he occupied so that he could face her, head-on before speaking further, "I trust you're already intending on doing that."

"Yeah. I am. I just—"

"You blame yourself for not trying to locate her on your own, before this could have happened."

"Something like that," Erin admitted, her brow furrowing as she fought against the sudden surge of guilt she felt over her own role, or lack thereof, in Charlie's current predicament. Since her own unorthodox induction into the Voight family, the two of them had been like sisters, the welcoming enthusiasm that Charlie had shown her upon her arrival rather effectively forcing down any barrier Erin may have sought to erect to keep herself at a safe distance to avoid getting hurt. She had never expected such a thing, any more than she might have anticipated finding a place for herself on Hank Voight's unit years after the fact. But her lingering surprise over her current situation notwithstanding, Erin would be damned if she turned her back on Charlie now, no matter how unlikely the chances of finding her may seem at the present time, determination prompting her to square her shoulders as she glanced back towards Jin for another moment, before breaking the silence between them once more.

"Tell Voight where I'm going. I'll call if I find anything substantial."

"You aren't going anywhere alone, Erin."

Turning in response to the unexpected sound of Hank Voight's voice coming from the doorway behind her, Erin pivoted on a heel to face her superior head-on, her expression unreadable as she did what she could to search his own features in an attempt at determining his current mindset. Of course, it was no secret to her that the relationship between Hank and Charlie was strained. That it had been, ever since they had buried his wife, and watched, helpless, as a son and brother got sent to jail. But no matter the tension that existed between father and daughter, Erin knew that her superior would move heaven and earth to get Charlie back to them safely…

It would have been a lie to pretend that she did not almost find herself looking forward to the prospect of his penchant for breaking the rules, particularly as far as this case was concerned.

"If they had enough sense to loop the cameras, they might keep a watch on them after the fact, to see if anyone comes looking," She suggested, her expression indicating almost immediately that her words appeared to have fallen on deaf ears, though that did not seem to be enough to prevent Voight from verbalizing his lack of concern for that very fact, regardless.

"I'm hoping they do. If this asshole had the nerve to abduct my daughter, I want him to know exactly what it is that's coming for him."

"You sure that won't put her in more danger?" Erin inquired, already moving to follow after Voight as he turned from the doorframe, and headed towards the stairs that would lead to the ground floor of the precinct with her following along behind.

"I'm hoping it provokes this guy into something reckless," Voight countered, glancing at Erin as she fell into step beside him, and registering her skeptical expression before she could rearrange her features into something more akin to neutral curiosity, "He gets pissed, does something stupid, and we get him before he can regroup."

"Alright, I'm in. But how do you plan to explain the dead body of the guy who orchestrated this whole thing once we catch up to him?"

"Who says there's gonna be a dead body?"

"Come on, Hank, you really expect me to believe you're not going to end this guy once we catch up to him?" Erin began, following after her superior as they stepped outside the precinct, and made their way towards the parking lot not long after, "I just want to know what the plan is for taking care of loose ends after the fact."

"I've got it covered," Voight assured, reaching for the keys inside his jacket pocket, and withdrawing them in one fluid motion, before turning back to Erin to issue one final directive.

"Call Ruzek and Olinsky. Let them know where we're headed, and to stand by in case we find a lead."

If they did manage to defy the odds and locate anything that would lead them to where Charlie had been taken, he wanted to move quickly, before the bastards who nabbed her caught on and vanished without a trace…

…

Left alone, save for the occasional visits from one of Mack's men to give her what passed for food, or to allow her to use the restroom, Charlie found it increasingly difficult to avoid succumbing to the panic that seemed to claw at her gut, her eyes darting around the room she had been stowed away in for what felt like the hundredth time while she remained seated upon the bed, utterly at a loss for what to do next. In truth, she was still more than a little rattled over Mack's very obvious threat, and the fact that he seemed inclined to believe that she actually _wanted _to give him up to her father, and his unit. And although she knew that she had very little time left to come up with a way out of this, if such a thing even existed, Charlie was entirely incapable of focusing on anything save for the fact that she had been a fool for attempting to leave her father's protection in the first place.

She had not wanted to be beholden to him, especially given how poorly their last encounter had gone, prior to her departure from Chicago. But now, when she was forced to face the consequences of her own stubborn pride, Charlie had come face to face with the fact that, when push came to shove, she would have been better off in her father's care, regardless of the pain that such a realization inflicted as a whole.

With a sigh, Charlie leaned back against the wall beside the bed, her legs moving to cross beneath her, while her hands still remained tethered behind her back. She was not ignorant of the fact that the tips of her fingers had already started going numb, just as she did not pretend to be blind to the idea that her current immobility might very well be her downfall. But even though she knew she really ought to be doing _something _to improve her odds, she could not entirely prevent herself from getting caught up in her own tumultuous feelings as they pertained to her father, himself, a shaky breath escaping as she allowed her head to thump against the wall, her eyes closing almost of their own accord, while her hands subconsciously flexed against their bindings in the same motion.

It hadn't always been this—off—between them. In fact, they had once been rather close, though anyone not privy to their former lives would never have believed it, to look at them now. She could remember trailing after her father when she was younger, babbling on about whatever mundane events her day had possessed, and demanding to know every last detail of his own work, in response. A part of her had even admired his chosen career, more often than not choosing to rook her brother into playing a rousing game of 'cops and robbers' whenever they both had a free moment away from school, and their own group of friends on a Sunday afternoon. But ever since her mother had gotten sick, it was as though a barrier had been erected between them, the stress brought on by watching treatment after treatment fail forcing them apart when they should have been getting closer together, instead.

Camille Voight's death had only served to further the distance between the two of them, though Charlie had spent countless years trying to convince herself that the fault was not entirely her own. She had tried, or so she thought, to be there for her father, hoping that their shared grief would repair whatever damage the countless chemo treatments had done to their relationship in the process. But Hank Voight had thrown himself into his work, instead of turning to his daughter and son, and whether he had intended it or not, that act alone had done more to convince Charlie that she was truly on her own than anything he had ever done before.

Unbidden, the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes forced Charlie to shake her head minutely and attempt to redirect her thoughts back to the moment at hand, the sensation of one tiny drop of moisture sliding down her cheek provoking her to an almost irrational anger, given its relative impotence as it pertained to her current situation. Acting rashly, or out of desperation, was sure to lead her down only one path, and not the one that she wanted to be on, at all.

Why, then, was she so damned tempted to do whatever she could to get Mack back in this room with her, if for no other reason than to provoke him into giving her some answers before he ended it all in one fell swoop?

Biting down on her lip in hopes that the pain would distract her from doing anything stupid, Charlie chose to attempt focusing on the sounds, or lack thereof, around her instead, in hopes that by doing so, she might be able to discern exactly what it was that her companions were up to outside of the room she had been stowed in. From the muted voices that did manage to reach her ears, she was able to surmise that Mack and his men did not appear to feel any particular rush to be moving on, the muffled sound of some tune or another from a commercial on television registering in her ears around the unintelligible conversation going on a mere few feet away. And, no matter the mild encouragement that such a realization may have provided, Charlie still found herself fighting against the roiling anxiety that threatened to take over her thoughts, a shaky sigh escaping as she forced herself to open her eyes once again despite the fact that a small part of her seemed to think she would be better off remaining blind to all that surrounded her.

As it turned out, opening her eyes was the best decision she could have made, given the circumstances, the sudden perception of a shadow blocking out the light shining into the room from the space between the carpeting and the bottom of the closed door allowing her to remain motionless as whoever stood on the other side forced it open, and stepped inside without a word. It did not take long for the man's eyes to meet Charlie's, the expression riveted upon his face chilling, to say the least, though she did what she could to remain stoic as he shoved the door closed behind him, and stepped slowly towards the bed.

"Boss says it's time for us to move," He ground out, closing the distance between them in no time, and reaching out with a calloused hand to curl long fingers around her arm so that he could yank her upright in the same motion, despite the low whimper that the rough gesture provoked in response, "Come on. Move your ass."

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Charlie griped, wincing at the tight grip that the man had upon her upper arm, while simultaneously scrambling to use the fingers of her right hand to tug at the ring that was secured upon the index finger of her left. It was a last-ditch effort, she knew, and one that might not even pan out, if her father and his team were unable to trace her to this location in the first place. But as she succeeded in freeing the ring from her finger, and dropping it onto the floor at her back, Charlie could not help but succumb to the hope that her attempt at leaving something with which to confirm her presence here would not prove to be futile, after all…

If nothing else, were her father to set foot in the bedroom that she had been kept in, no matter how briefly, Charlie knew he would not fail to notice that the ring left haphazardly upon the floor was the very same one her mother had given her on the last birthday they shared before she died.

…

**Hi there, everyone! And welcome to a delayed, but hopefully enjoyable chapter in Charlie's tale! Once again, I feel the need to apologize for the inexcusable delay in between postings, and for my seeming inability to keep from getting pulled into one fandom almost exclusively for a little bit, at the expense of my other stories! I promise, no matter how infrequent the updates, I have absolutely no intention of abandoning any of the works I currently have going on my profile! So I do hope that you can all find it within yourselves to forgive me, and to stick around, because I promise I am nowhere near to being done with this story!**

**As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite, and review this story so far (and special thanks to last chapter's guest reviewer for leaving such lovely words of support)! I truly do appreciate your time, and your wonderful feedback, and of course I cannot wait to see what you think of this latest chapter! Hopefully it was worth the wait!**

**Until next time, my lovelies…**

**MOMM**


	9. Chapter 9

"Sarge—got something," Erin began, jogging over to where Voight was standing beside a bench, hands in his pockets while he kept a vigilant glance trained upon their surroundings, "A lady walking her dog claims to have seen someone matching Charlie's description sitting on that bench before she was taken away by a guy wearing a hoodie and dark jeans."

"Where is she now?"

"Over by that tree. I told her to stay put, until you questioned her, yourself."

"Good," Voight replied, turning from the bench, and heading towards the aforementioned tree with Lindsay right at his side, "She have any idea where they might've gone?"

"No specifics. But she does have a description of the vehicle."

"Have Jin on standby. As soon as we get that description, I want him running plates," Voight ordered, aware of Erin's almost automatic nod in agreement, before redirecting his attention toward the woman standing just a few feet away, hands wringing anxiously while she waited. Clearly, his approach had only made her that much more on edge, given the all too likely reality of the barely concealed anger that was held in his expression. But, regardless of her apparent unease, Voight never once thought to alter his demeanor, the need to find Charlie's location sooner, rather than later, pressing him to step forward until he was standing directly before this supposed witness, his tone dictating that it would go poorly for her, if anything she were to tell him was not true.

"Sergeant Hank Voight, Intelligence. What did you see?"

"The—the girl was over there, on that bench," The woman began, her gaze shifting from Voight's own, to down by their feet where her dog—a Pekingese—was sniffing energetically at the newcomer's boots, "She was alone, and it—it looked like she was waitin' for somebody."

"And the man that approached her?"

"He was—he was in jeans and a hoodie. Like I told your partner."

"How did he take her?" Voight pressed, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he did what he could to prepare for whatever it was this witness was about to tell him. He was aware, of course, of how Erin hovered at his side, as though expecting him to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. But, regardless of how that reality only served to make him more on edge than he already was, Voight remained entirely focused upon the woman standing before him, his gaze never wavering as she lifted her eyes to meet his own once more before she spoke.

"He had a rag. Put it over her mouth, and then took her to the car."

"What car?"

"A blue Suburban. Tinted windows, and tricked out rims on the tires."

"What about a license plate? You get a look at that?"

"Only a few letters," The woman admitted, once again taking up the act of wringing her hands as she took in the darkening of Voight's features, and bit her lip for a moment before continuing, "AB 84—that's all I got."

"It's enough. What direction were they headed?"

"East. Or at least they were until I lost sight of 'em."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Voight stated, turning from the stunned woman as quickly as he had arrived, and heading back towards the direction from which he had come, despite the fact that Erin had remained behind for a moment to offer the witness a more genuine response for her efforts. Naturally, he was well-aware that the lead he had just been granted was not much. That if Jin was unable to trace the plates on the vehicle, or if they had been switched to a car other than the one they truly belonged to, the information the woman had given him would be rendered useless in mere moments. But the determination to find his daughter all but forced him to cling to that lead as though it was the best hope he had, his teeth grinding together in an entirely unsuccessful attempt at relieving his edginess while he simultaneously heard the sound of hurried footsteps that indicated Erin was nearing his side once more.

"Think this will pan out?" She inquired, something of the very same desperation he was feeling making its way into the inquiry, and causing her voice to shake a bit in mid-sentence, as a result.

"I think we owe it to ourselves, and to Charlie, to follow through."

"Okay. I'll get Jin on the line right now," Erin supplied, digging into the back pocket of her jeans for her cell, only to find that Hank had already withdrawn his own, and brought it to his ear before she even had the chance, "Or not."

"Jin—need you to run a plate," Voight instructed, holding out a hand to stall Erin in the act of obtaining her own phone, and continuing the trek towards where he had parked the squad car upon their initial arrival, with her following along at his heels, "Alpha, bravo, eight-four. That's all we've got."

In lieu of awaiting a reply in the affirmative, Hank flipped the cell phone closed immediately after issuing the order and stowed it back in the safety of his jacket pocket, his attention once again shifting to the detective walking beside him as he did so. Her expression, he suspected, was almost identical to the one he wore, himself, the hand that was not hovering at the holster of her weapon curled into a tight fist at her side. And although he knew very well where that tension was coming from, particularly as it so precisely mirrored his own, Hank came to a stop beside the vehicle that had brought them to this location, his body effectively blocking her from opening the passenger side door, so that he could place one hand upon her shoulder before he spoke.

"Hey. I need to know you're going into this on all cylinders," He said, aware of the incredulous expression Erin had adopted in response to his statement, and moving to continue speaking before she could protest, "I can't have you going off, and risking a lead, or your own safety because you can't get your emotions in line."

"Seriously, Hank? You, of all people, are telling me to keep my head on straight?" Erin protested, backing away as she realized the man who had taken her under his wing all those years ago was now reaching for her, as though hoping to abate some of her anger with just a touch, "That's rich, seeing as we both know your first chance you're going to put this guy in the ground."

"That's me. Not you," Hank advised, dropping his hand back to his side, and watching as Erin processed what he had just said for a moment before going on, "If this goes south, I don't want anyone else going down with me."

"What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm not stupid enough to think that if we get this guy, IA isn't going to be all over the outcome. And I'm not about to take a good cop down with me just because she won't tell me right now if she's too close to this for comfort."

"What makes you think I won't want to be right there with you when you take this prick down?" Erin demanded, hands on her hips as she eyed the man standing between her, and her way into the vehicle as though daring him to pretend she did not have every reason to want this asshole dead every bit as much as he did, himself, "What gives you the idea that I won't end him myself, if I get him first?"

"You aren't going to touch him. If he dies, you aren't going to be connected to this in any way," Voight replied, once again ignoring Erin's almost immediate move to protest, and finally stepping away from the passenger side door so that he could cross to the driver's side instead.

"You let _me _handle this, Erin. Let me lie for you, so I can protect you, just like always. This can't happen any other way."

Whether she agreed with his methods or not, Hank Voight would be damned if anyone on his team got caught in the crossfire as a direct result of the decision he knew he would eventually be forced to make.

…

"Any news?" Ruzek inquired, settling back in the passenger seat of the car he shared with Olinsky, and handing the older man a styrofoam cup filled to the brim with cheap gas-station coffee in the same motion. They had been camped out, so to speak, not all that far from the park where Voight and Lindsay had ventured to attempt finding a lead on Charlie's current location, for only an hour, or so, when the rookie had decided to stretch his legs. And now, regardless of the still-skeptical expression fixed upon his partner's face even in light of his return with coffee in tow, Adam somehow found himself capable of looking the man in the eye, the slight shake of the head Olinsky gave forcing him to release a sigh before he directed his attention to his own cup of coffee before dragging his free hand through his hair in abject frustration.

"They've got to come up with something."

"They don't _have_ to do anything," Olinsky countered, taking a small sip of coffee, and grimacing against the bitter taste before looking at his newfound partner, and lifting a brow as though daring him to disagree, "You just want them to. It's not the same thing."

"Don't you? Want them to, I mean—"

"Of course I do. But around here, you learn pretty early on that what a cop wants, and what they get are often two very different things."

"So you don't think we stand a chance of getting her back," Adam accused, disbelief coloring his tone as he simultaneously fought against the guilt brought about by the thought that were it not for his own mistake, they might not be in this situation to begin with, "I gotta say, that's—that's cold, man."

"It isn't anything, one way or another, Ruzek. Quicker you learn that, the better. And I never said I didn't think we could get her back."

"But—"

"But nothing," Olinsky interrupted, placing his cup of coffee in the holder beside the console, and redirecting his attention towards the streets around them in an effort to keep himself alert in case the need to move quickly presented itself, "If I was in Voight's shoes, I'd move heaven and earth to see that we succeed."

"Why didn't you just say so, then?" Ruzek asked, following the line of his partner's gaze, and finding that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary seemed to make itself known in the immediate vicinity while his partner replied.

"Because I didn't think it had to be said."

Unable to come up with a fitting reply, Adam opted for remaining silent, at least for the moment, his own attention turning to the passenger side window while he fiddled with the Styrofoam cup held between his hands. In truth, he could not even begin to imagine what Voight was going through, with his daughter only God knew where, in the hands of a man that was all too likely to place self-preservation over her own well-being whenever he was given the chance. And although he still had his doubts about whether or not the man could remain impartial given the stakes that were already lined up against them, he also knew enough about the man to realize that he was perhaps the best person possible for the job at hand.

Even in the academy, it was well-known that Hank Voight got the job done, no matter what lines he had to cross to do it.

Still, Ruzek was not blind to the possibility that allowing the sergeant free reign over how this entire affair went down had its own risks, and it was for that very reason that he opted for breaking the silence between himself and his partner for a second time, the thumb of one hand digging a half-crescent indentation in the cup he held while he spoke.

"You think Voight's good with all this?"

"Are you really saying what I think you're saying, kid?"

"It's a legitimate question, Al. I just wonder if we're not risking him flying off the handle with this."

"The only one that's gonna be flying of the handle in this situation is me, if you keep askin' questions like the one you just did," Alvin quipped, ignoring Ruzek's almost immediate roll of the eyes in favor of glancing down at his cell where it buzzed against the seat between his legs, "You gonna be quiet long enough for me to take this call?"

"Sure thing, boss."

"Good," Al acknowledged, reaching down for the phone, and bringing it to his ear after pressing the button to answer the call in the same motion, "Olinsky."

While his partner took the call, Adam once again allowed his attention to stray just a bit, one hand lifting the cup of coffee to his lips despite the fact he never once expected the taste of the liquid contained inside would be a pleasant one. Dimly, he could hear Alvin firing off questions at Voight on the other end of the line, just as he was aware of the older man's almost immediate move to place the keys inside the ignition and rev the car to life. But, regardless of that awareness, he was not entirely capable of pulling his thoughts from their constant mulling over what exactly stood to happen if Voight did get his hands on the man who had threatened his daughter, particularly as he was not entirely certain what scenario would be the worst…

One in which they got to Charlie before the man could hurt her, or the one in which Voight was forced to deal with the threat after she had already been harmed.

Before he could spend too much time considering either of those two options, however, Ruzek found himself once again forced back to the present as Olinsky disconnected the call, and threw the car in drive, the squeal the tires made in protest as he sped out onto the street with lights blaring prompting him to risk a glance at his partner before heaving a breath and deciding to speak, even though better instinct and the expression upon his partner's face all but demanded that he remain silent.

"We got something?"

"What do you think, kid?"

Whether Adam understood the meaning behind the simple retort or not, it did not escape Olinsky's notice that the younger man clearly appeared to know better than to say anything more, his mouth settling into a firm line as they drove off in response to Voight's brief instruction, and hoped beyond hope that they were not going to arrive too late.

…

The house they arrived at was nondescript, at best, its outward appearance leaving little hope for anything better on the interior. In contrast to the other houses and buildings surrounding it, every single one of its windows were dark, the sight causing Erin's spirits to sink with an almost crippling dread, though she did what she could to avoid such a sensation from making itself apparent upon her face. She could feel Jay's eyes on her, even from where he stood behind her, and slightly to the left, though that was not entirely enough to force her to turn and confront him, head-on. And although she knew that ignoring him would only get her so far, she opted for continuing in that vein, her shoulders stiffening as she followed behind Voight and Olinsky as they made their way towards the stairs leading up to the front door of the building they sought.

Voight's three short knocks upon the door received no response, not that Erin had truly expected them to, and she found herself almost looking forward to breaching the door with a grim sort of satisfaction that she was not willing to acknowledge, at least at the present. She would have been lying had she pretended finding any excuse to put a bullet between the eyes of the man who had taken Charlie from them was not at the very top of her list of things she desired, though she remained wise enough to avoid that desire becoming public knowledge.

She knew as soon as it did, Voight would bench her, and she was not about to permit that to happen, when Charlie was still, for all intents and purposes, in the wind.

Determined to avoid that outcome for as long as she possibly could, Erin followed along behind Voight with weapon drawn as he and Olinsky entered the building, and fanned out to clear the rooms in rapid succession, her eyes drawn almost immediately to the stairwell at the back of the room she currently occupied for long enough to note that the spot of color on the pale white railing was not a preexisting blemish that had been present for a while. As she approached, it seemed to glisten just a bit in the beam of her flashlight, the sight causing her stomach to roil as she got close enough to recognize the spot for exactly what it was—blood. And although she did not truly wish to acknowledge it, she would have been blind to pretend that there was not a faint trail of the same substance proceeding ahead of her towards the top of the stairs, her teeth clenching as she adjusted her hold upon the flashlight and the gun in her hands before taking each step one at a time.

While she rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, she was vaguely aware of the sound of Voight and the others indicating they had successfully cleared each of the rooms on the main floor, a strange sort of determination steeling over her as she hoped she would find something—anything—that would indicate this had not been a wasted trip. She knew they were running out of time to find leads on Charlie before the man who had her decided to remove her from the equation entirely. And that thought alone fueled her single-minded focus on the task at hand, her grip only tightening on the gun in her hand as she rounded the corner and entered the first room on the landing ready for a fight.

A fight that would not be forthcoming.

Cursing under her breath, Erin followed through as it pertained to clearing the room as procedure would dictate, her shoulders tightening still further as she fought against the devastating idea that she was not about to find her friend here, at all. In truth, she had very nearly left the room, entirely, to move on to the other two on the floor to avoid any hidden assailants gaining an advantage over her, or her fellow detectives one floor below. But that was before a tiny glint of silver reflected against the flashlight's motion as she was swinging it back towards the door, her breath catching in her throat as she stooped towards the ground and plucked it up as gingerly as she could, despite her now trembling hands.

It was Charlie's ring…

"Hank!" She called, heading towards the door with all thought of clearing the other rooms temporarily forgotten, while the sound of thudding footsteps on the stairs headed her way, "I think I've got something."

"Show me," Voight directed, reaching the top of the stairs quicker than Erin would have thought possible, had she not known the stakes that he held in this fight, as well. Holding out her hand, she watched his expression carefully as he took in the small silver band resting upon her palm, the sight of the muscle working at his jawline the only outward sign that he recognized it at all. Almost immediately, one hand had reached out for the tiny ring, his gaze fixated upon the thing as though if he stared long enough, he might will its owner into making an appearance, as well. But before she could say or do anything to assuage the obvious frustration and worry that flickered, just for a moment, in the familiar hazel eyes, she found the gesture rendered inept, the breath she had not even realized she was holding escaping her lungs in a rush as Hank's eyes met hers while he spoke.

"She was here."

…

**Hi there, everyone! And welcome (finally!) to another new chapter in Charlie's tale! Once again, I offer my sincerest apologies for making everyone wait so long for another update! The reasons are the same as they always are, so I won't bore you by making you read over them again. But I truly do hope that in spite of this delay, none of you have given up on Charlie, or her story, because I can promise you I most definitely have not, and have no intention of doing so in the future!**

**As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far (and special thanks to last chapter's reviewers: July and guest, for leaving such lovely words of support!) I truly do appreciate such kind feedback, and I really do hope that you enjoyed this chapter every bit as much as you have enjoyed the last! I know Charlie didn't really feature here, but something seemed to indicate that a look through the rest of the intelligence team's eyes was warranted. Hopefully it was enjoyed?**

**Until next time, angels…**

**MOMM**


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